“Too bad Colin isn’t here for this meeting of the minds,” Father said.

“Yes, it is,” Nathan said thoughtfully.

“My instincts tell me he won’t be away much longer. Most likely his ‘business’ is a curvaceous beauty he’ll soon tire of.”

“Yes, you’re most likely right,” Nathan said. Unfortunately, however, his instincts were telling him something different.


Late that afternoon, after another unsuccessful search of another craggy rock formation, Nathan leaned against the trunk of a stately elm, consulted his grid map and drew an X across another square. Only five more squares remained. Would they need to search all five areas-or would the jewels be found perhaps tomorrow? Or the next day? Even if it proved necessary to search all five squares, he still felt the pressure of time. Once the search was over-either having found the jewels or admitting defeat-his time in Cornwall would draw to a close.

Surely he would hear from Victoria’s father within the next week regarding his letter, hopefully providing additional information that could aid in the search for the jewels. But might Lord Wexhall also ask that his daughter be sent back to London?

No matter how Nathan looked at it, he felt his magical time with Victoria dwindling, like grains of sand trickling inexorably through his fisted hands.

After refolding the map and slipping it into his boot, he looked at Victoria, who crouched two dozen feet away, gathering a small bouquet of purple wildflowers. The sun caught at her hair, coaxing burnished highlights from the silky skeins. Bloody hell, she was so beautiful. And he loved her so much. Wanted her so badly. His father’s advice echoed in his mind, and Nathan realized he was right. He had to tell her how he felt. But how? When? Wait, his inner voice cautioned. Give her more time. ‘Tis obvious she cares about you-perhaps she’ll fall in love with you. A humorless sound escaped him. Or perhaps she’d break his heart.

She stood, then glanced over at him. His desire must have shown in his eyes because an answering heat kindled in her gaze. With a siren’s smile playing about her lips, she slowly walked toward him.

“You’re looking rather pensive,” she said as she approached.

“Just admiring the view.”

Her gaze boldly raked over him, resting pointedly on his groin before returning to meet his again. “Yes, the view is fascinating.”

He swallowed the rueful laugh that rose in his throat at the ease with which she aroused him. She halted two feet from him and extended the bouquet. “For you,” she said.

Touched at the simple gesture, he took the flowers, brushing his fingers against hers as he did. “I’ve never been given flowers before.”

She smiled. “I’ve never given flowers before. I realize they pale in comparison to the magnificent roses you gave me, but-”

“No, they don’t. It’s not the sort of flowers you receive, but who gives them to you that’s important.” He brushed his lips against her soft cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“As it just so happens, I have a present for you as well. I’ll be right back.” He pushed off from the tree and crossed to where Midnight and Honey stood tethered in the shade of a huge weeping willow. After putting his flowers in Midnight’s saddlebag, he removed a small leather pouch then returned to Victoria. “For you,” he said, handing her the small gift.

There was no mistaking her surprised pleasure. “What is it?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He watched her pull open the drawstring top of the pouch and spill the contents into her palm. Suddenly, doubts assailed him. What the hell was he doing, giving her something so lacking in monetary value when she was accustomed to and deserved the most expensive, extravagant of jewels? She lifted the slender black velvet cord from which hung a single white glossy seashell.

She studied the shell for several seconds, then said, “I recognize this shell. You found it near the shore the first day you brought me to the beach.” Her gaze shifted from the necklace to him. “The first day you showed me the crystal cave.”

“Yes,” he said, unable to deny his pleased surprise that she remembered. “How did you know?”

Unmistakable tenderness filled her eyes. “Nathan, I’m not likely to ever forget anything about that day.” After setting the leather pouch on the ground, she lifted her arms and drew the velvet cord over her head. She then held the delicate shell up to the sun and examined it. “How did you make it so shiny?”

“A dozen coats of clear lacquer. It makes it glossy and strong.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted you to have something by which to remember your time here. I know it isn’t much, but-”

She touched her fingers to his lips, halting his words. “You’re wrong, Nathan. This necklace is… lovely. And thoughtful. In every way. Just like the man who gave it to me. Thank you. I’ll treasure it always.”

Taking her hand, he backed up a few paces, gently tugging her along, until his back rested against the tree trunk. Spreading his legs, he slowly drew her closer until she leaned against his body in the vee of his thighs. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, bending his head to touch his lips to the sensitive rose-scented skin behind her ear.

A delicate shudder ran through her, and her arms stole around his neck. Leaning back in the circle of his arms to look at him, she said, “Speaking of liking something-I think my aunt likes your father.”

“Excellent news, as I think my father likes your aunt.” He trailed his fingers over her petal-soft cheek. “I think his son likes her niece.”

She raised her brows. “Oh? Which son? He has two.”

He knew she was teasing; still, a fissure of jealousy seeped through him. “I meant me.”

“Ah. Likes her, hmmm? Does that mean he wishes to be friends?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because friends don’t do this.” He palmed her breasts, teasing her nipples through the fine material of her riding gown. “Nor do they do this.” Leaning forward, he pressed a heated kiss against her neck.

Her head dropped limply back and a pleasure-filled sigh escaped her. She insinuated her hand between them and stroked her palm over his erection, dragging a groan from his throat.

“I suspect friends don’t do that, either?” she asked in a smoky voice.

His fingers set to work undoing the buttons on her gown. “I’m not certain… do it again and I’ll let you know.”

She stroked him again, then teased the head of his arousal with her fingertips. “No,” he said in husky rasp. “They don’t do that, either.”

“Not even if they are the very best of friends?”

“Not even then.” Finished with the buttons, he pushed her gown and chemise down her arms in one motion.

“What else don’t friends do?”

He drew a lazy fingertip around her pebbled nipple. “Are you certain you want to know?”

“Yes.” The word ended in a hiss of pleasure as he bent his head and drew her nipple into his mouth. She breathed his name, and all the pent-up frustration of wanting her, loving a woman he feared he could never have, burst, flooding him with a desperation unlike anything he’d ever known. He yanked her gown, chemise, and drawers roughly down over her hips, then simply lifted her and kicked the material aside, leaving her clad in only her stockings and ankle-high riding boots. With his breaths pumping from his lungs like a bellows, he snagged one hand under her thigh and lifted her leg against his hip while his other hand skimmed down her bare back, over her round buttocks, then lower, to stroke the plump folds of her sex. That she was already wet for him snapped the last vestiges of his control.

Kissing her deeply, he slipped two fingers into her moist heat, his tongue stroking her in the same smooth rhythm as his fingers stroked inside her body. Her arms tightened around his neck and she strained against him. He broke off their kiss, relentlessly stroking her body, and watched her pleasure overtake her while she pulsed around his fingers.

The instant the tremors subsided, he scooped her up in his arms and sat her on top of her discarded gown. Dropping to his knees between her splayed thighs, he yanked open his breeches with impatient, unsteady hands, and freed his erection. Now, damn it. He needed her now. Sitting back on his heels, he grasped her hips and settled her over him, astride his thighs. She clasped his shoulders and slid down as he thrust upward. He tried to go slow, to savor the exquisite glide into her velvety heat, the erotic pull of her tight passage gripping him, but slow was beyond him. Clenching her hips in a viselike hold, he gritted his teeth and thrust, hard, fast, beads of sweat forming on his brow. And just like his thrusts, his release came upon him hard and fast. With a guttural groan that sounded more like pain than pleasure, he withdrew and crushed her against him, his face buried in the warm fragrant valley between her breasts. The instant the passion-induced fog cleared from his brain, guilt smacked him. Damn it, what the hell had come over him? He never lost control like that. He’d taken her without a thought to her pleasure. He lifted his head, fully prepared to apologize and beg her pardon, but found her looking at him with a flushed, sated, slumberous expression.

“Oh… my,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Just when I think I’ve finally discovered what you do best, you prove me wrong.”

Relieved that she’d found as much pleasure as he, he dropped a kiss on her nose. “You still haven’t discovered it.”

“Oh… my,” she whispered again. She glanced down at her naked breasts pressed to his chest. “I’m guessing that friends don’t do this, either?”

“Are we friends, Victoria?” He tossed out the question lightly, but found himself tensing, awaiting her reply.