She seemed to consider. "Don't you like it?" Her hands came to rest over his at her waist.

"I'm not complaining, but you could do with a few lessons from an expert."

She laughed, interdigitating her fingers with his. "What, then?"

"When you trap your quarry in a room with seduction in mind, it's a good idea to lock the door."

"I'll bear that in mind." There was laughter and something else in her voice. "Anything else?"

"If intending to use any exotic location, it's wise to reconnoiter first."

She sighed. "I'd no idea a succession house could be so crowded." After a moment, she added, "Anyway, it's too hot."

"You still haven't told me why."

Amelia recognized the undertone in his voice, knew she would have to answer. "Because I thought you'd like it." That was at least partly true. "Don't you?"

"Yes. Do you?"

She blinked. "Well of course."

"What do you like best?"

When she didn't immediately reply, he elaborated, "When I touch your breasts, when I suckle them, when I touch you between your thighs—

"When you come inside me." She'd already been warm; she was getting hotter by the minute. "When you're deep inside me and I can hold you there."

A long pause greeted that. "Interesting."

She wasn't going to let the chance slide. "What do you like best?"

After the most fleeting pause, he answered, "Having you."

"But how? Do you prefer me clothed, or naked?"

His laugh was short, gravelly. "Naked."

"And you? Clothed or naked?"

He appeared to have to think. Eventually, he said, "Either. It depends. But if you want to know what I prefer above all else?"

"Yes." She made the word quite definite.

"I prefer both of us naked, in our bed."

Before she could ask her next question, he bent his head; his lips caressed her ear, then skated lower.

"Anytime, night… or day."

The words hovered in the air about them; the afternoon was peaceful, silent, still. The atmosphere was heavy with the sun's warmth, weighted with unvoiced suggestion.

It was difficult to breathe, not just because his hands lay heavy at her waist, not only because she could sense his strength, and that overwhelming sexual power he commanded, already surrounding her. She was already his captive in that regard; the challenge had been issued, but there was no decision to be made — she had to answer, had to accede.

"Yes." She breathed the word, felt his hands, his fingers, briefly tighten.

Then he raised his head; hands sliding from her, he stepped back. Took her hand as she turned to him. His gaze, dark as night, touched her eyes, lowered to her lips, then he glanced at the house.

"Come."

He led her down the steps, along the path to the drive and around to the front door. Unhurriedly. Far from easing her unaccountably tight nerves, his apparent lack of urgency only wound her tighter. His attitude was one of having the right, and the whole afternoon, to do with her whatever he wished.

As, indeed, he did.

They entered the front hall and heard distant voices — servants working in the cool of the house, busy and cheerful — but as they ascended the stairs, all sounds fell away.

Silence engulfed them; they neared their room and the world retreated.

This house was his, she its mistress. It was indeed their bastion, its walls designed to protect and nurture them. He opened the door, drew her into their room, shut the door behind them. The snip of the lock was a soft echo, a note signaling intent.

The curtains were drawn against the heat and the sun. Golden light filtered through, illuminating a haven of stillness, not hot, not cool. Theirs.

Amelia walked to the bed, stopped, and glanced back.

Luc followed, but halted a yard away. He shrugged out of his coat, dropped it, then started on the buttons of his shirt.

His eyes held hers. With a faint arching of one brow, she followed his lead.

By the time her chemise hit the floor, he was already naked, lying stretched on the bed, leaning on one elbow watching her. He'd pulled the covers to the bed's foot, dispensing with most of the pillows, leaving a wide expanse of silk sheet.

Stepping around the bed, she ran her gaze from his bare calves to his shoulders. Her lips curved; she suspected he knew how magnificent he looked, fully aroused, shamelessly masculine. She felt his gaze on her body, on her breasts, her thighs, as she knelt, then climbed onto the bed.

He reached for her hip, drew her down to lie beside him.

Met her gaze, seemed to weigh the moment, then he raised his hand, and set his fingertips to her breast. His eyes locked on hers; he touched, traced…

The afternoon dissolved into golden hours of delight, of profound sensual bliss. He led, she followed, yet who sat in the driving seat changed several times, turn and turnabout.

It was too hot to lie body to body, in full contact, for long. In the drawn-out, extended exchanges when she had him under her hands, when she took him in her mouth and pleasured him, for the first time in their lives she knew she had the whip hand. Because he allowed her to have it, to take it — to take him as she wished.

And she returned the favor, without reservation. Without intent beyond the giving.

It was too hot for either to think, to watch for hints of the other's thoughts, the 'other's motives. By unspoken agreement, one she was as conscious of as he, they set aside all outward desires, disregarding their day-to-day hopes and fears, the needs and wants that drove them outside the doors to this room. By a deliberate joint act of will, they devoted themselves unreservedly to the moment, to the sensual, the physical, and what lay beyond.

The hours stretched, and they came together in simple, achingly sweet pleasure, again and again. They gave no thought to anything but that, the delight their bodies could give and receive. The only sounds to disturb the heavy stillness were their pants, their moans, groans, the faint, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the soft shushing as they moved upon the silk sheet.

Outside, all lay still, slumbering under the relentless sun. In their room, heat swirled, and danced across their skins. Tongues lapped, languid and slow, bodies arched, bowed, limbs slid and shifted, fingers traced, drifted, hands cupped, caressed, touched, possessed.

And as the hours slid past, something else went with them — the barriers behind which they both, until then, had sought to hide. She felt him tremble, caught in the throes, felt him surrender, felt the last shield fall away.

Felt her own heart constrict so hard she thought it would shatter. Then the glory rushed in and swept her away.

In the end, between them nothing remained but simple honesty. Neither had gone searching for it — it was simply there, theirs. Golden and bright. Their gazes met — each recognized the uncertainty in the other, felt the same. They both drew breath, short, shallow, tight.

By mutual accord, gazes locked, together, they reached for it, claimed it, accepted it.

Accepted the fact that in doing so, they could never be the same, never retreat and return to how they had been before they'd closed the door.

They came together in a kiss, each needing the contact, wanting more. Her fingers sank into his hair, holding him to her; his speared through her long locks, tangled and tumbled.

He rolled and came over her, nudged her thighs wide. She parted them, cradled him. Arched when he entered her, sheathed him lovingly again. Lifted her knees and gripped his flanks as he moved within her, danced with him as the sheets heated and the musky scent of their desire swirled through the room.

Their tongues tangled, dueled; their bodies rode an uninhibited ride, slick and hot, and suddenly urgent. The abrasion of his chest against her breasts made her cry out, made her gasp.

He drank the sound, held tight to the kiss, slid his hands down, curved them about her bottom and held tight to her. The way she matched him, the way she held him within her, caressing him, wanting him, drove him wild.

The power flared between them, rushed through them, and they followed — higher, further, faster, deeper. No barriers, no restrictions, no thoughts, no regrets. Just a driving, untamable, irresistible need to give themselves up to the flames.

To dive into, to wallow, to glory, to burn in the pure heart of what they knew lay between them.

Chapter 17

Men!

Thank heavens she was stubborn. Stubborner than he.

Toiling up the stairs to the top floor of the Chase, Amelia silently berated her lord and master. He of the masculine persuasion who, in this one matter, was proving to be unbelievably dense.

She couldn't believe he could be so stupid as not to comprehend what was in front of his nose!

After what had occurred on that overhot afternoon, anyone would think the true state of affairs between them ought to be obvious. They loved—were in love. She was in love with him; he had to be in love with her. She couldn't see any alternative — any other way it might be. Any other possibility to explain all that had occurred, and all that had flowed from it.

However, it was now two days—forty-eight hours—later and Luc had said not a word, given not a single sign.

What he was doing was watching her, carefully, which had ensured she'd said not a word.

She didn't dare.

What if the damned man really was so stupid that he didn't see the truth? Or refused to see it — that was much more likely. But if either was the case and she mentioned the word "love," she'd lose every last inch she'd fought so hard to gain. His shields would go up, and she'd be shut outside.