While his tongue swirled with delicious languor inside her mouth, his hands slipped between their bodies, one to fully cover each breast, kneading, gently plucking at her nipples, then not so gently squeezing once they were quivering buds. It all had the same effect, however, making her wild to have more, the heat in her loins igniting, fast becoming an ache.

He was caressing her arms now, her face, kissing her fiercely one moment, gently the next. And she thought she would go mad because he still wasn't reacting to her own passion, which had already surpassed anything she'd ever felt before. Nor would he stop kissing her long enough for her to tell him. But she was hoping she wouldn't have to, for the fear was there that if he did stop, if he heard her voice now, he'd come to his senses and stop altogether, leaving her in this agonizing state of need.

She tried to calm herself, to relax, reasoning that she must not be going about this right, that she should just follow Stefan's lead, because although she might know what went where, she was basically ignorant about lovemaking, at least the subtleties of it. But she couldn't do it. She writhed, she arched, she pulled at his hips, his hair, his skin. He was in no tearing rush, but she was going to be a cinder before long.

Finally, she found the thick bulge pressed to her loins and undulated against it in a simulation of what she wanted. That brought his hand to that area, but he didn't actually touch her there. When she realized he was removing his trousers instead, she almost melted with relief. And then he was entering her and she held on tight.

Somewhere deep in Stefan's mind, he knew Tanya wasn't fighting him anymore, was instead wantonly responding to him, and he knew there was something that should bother him about that. But what it was never quite surfaced in the quagmire of his thoughts, blessedly blank for the most part, rife with rage and passion the rest. He was functioning purely on instinct, primitive in nature, and thanks to too much alcohol, on the drunken assurance that he wasn't taking anything that didn't belong to him.

The anger was still there, but lust was now overriding it, and that was suddenly so strong at finding her so wet and tight, he didn't even notice his difficulty in entering her. The slight tug and give of her maidenhead was nothing next to all that moist heat squeezing him. And when he reached her depths, he stayed there, the pleasure so great he couldn't bear to move.

It was that pleasure that brought him to his senses, wiping out his anger completely. And with the anger gone, he knew exactly what he had done, and that damn near sobered him completely. He was inside her, deep inside her at last, and he couldn't recall with any clarity the details of having got there.

Guilt washed over him in waves and would have unmanned him, but he was still encased in the tightest, warmest sheath he had ever entered, and that exquisite sensation was separate from everything else he was suddenly feeling.

After the last time this had almost happened, he had sworn to himself that he would never take Tanya in anger. That was one of the reasons he had stayed away from her on the ship, where forced confinement could so easily make tempers flare. But he hadn't been back with her one complete day before he took her anyway. Only she had responded to him — hadn't she? Or was that wishfulness on his part, her wanton wildness actually resistance?

Even as he thought it, her arms suddenly tightened around his neck, and in his stillness he felt it, unbelievably, without his having moved at all for the past few moments, she was climaxing, the pulse of it surrounding him, squeezing him with each glorious throb, and firing him with a savage exultation that whipped his desire for her to a frenzied peak. He thrust, and thrust again, and went over the edge so explosively, he wasn't sure he would survive it.

Tanya held on tight and smiled very smugly to herself when Stefan finally went wild in his release. She'd caused that, and if it was anywhere near what she'd just experienced, then the man ought to get down on his knees and kiss the ground she walked on. She was certainly ready to make that concession. Having someone tell you, "It's wonderful. Try it," just doesn't prepare you for that maelstrom of sensation. Nothing could.

He dropped his head on her shoulder now, his heartbeat slamming against her breast, his breath stirring the hair tangled about her neck. Her fingers smoothed his black mane, her other hand caressed his back. She felt so close to him just then, and that was a wonderful feeling in itself. She didn't want him to move, didn't want him to remove that part of him that was inside her, because it still felt so delicious, having him there.

He did stir at last, not to actually raise his head, but with a sudden tensing of his body. "Did I hurt you?"

The pain of her maidenhead breaking had been so minimal, it wasn't worth mentioning. "No, but why is that always your first concern when you calm down?"

"Tanya, I am anything but calm. Did... I... hurt…you?"

"Well, of course it hurt a little bit, but only for a second."

Stefan's guilt escalated. Only for a second? Dear God, had he hit her? He reared up to look at her face, but he could see no bruises. That didn't mean she wouldn't have them elsewhere, if not now, then tomorrow. Alicia had always claimed bruises galore, though he'd never actually seen any. If he had bruised Tanya…

Tanya groaned inwardly when he rolled away from her and swiftly fastened his trousers. Then he left the bed and started heading toward the door. Was that it? she wondered. Not even a reaction for discovering she wasn't the whore he thought her to be? Vasili had said he would be furious if he discovered her a virgin, but he wasn't. He was in the strangest mood, as if he felt guilty for taking her innocence, which was ridiculous, since it would have been his on their wedding night anyway, in the nottoodistant future.

"I really am fine, Stefan," she told him, stressing each word. "Better than fine, actually. You should know by now that I'm not some fragile flower you have to worry about touching."

He turned at the door. There was a glow in his eyes. She didn't know it was selfdirected, or that he was referring to taking her in anger when he said, "You may be accustomed to variation in lovemaking, but that doesn't excuse... This won't happen again, Princess. You have my word on that."

Tanya stared at the door after it had closed, her eyes incredulously wide. Had he just promised what she thought he had? Never to make love to her again? And then the rest of what he'd said hit her. My God, he still thought she was a whore! He'd been so caught up in his rage, he hadn't even noticed her virginity!

Tanya almost laughed. It was too fantastic! Her only proof of innocence was gone now. He'd taken it and didn't even know it. God, what a joke — on her. Well, she'd wanted him to want her despite what he thought, and it looked as if that was the only way it could be now — except he'd had his "one night," and obviously, that was really all he wanted from her.

Chapter 41

"What does that look like to you?"

"Blood."

"Not that," Tanya said in exasperation tinged with embarrassment. "The tear in the sheet."

Serge moved up to the side of the bed for a closer examination. Tanya waited impatiently. She wished she hadn't had to do this, to drag him out of bed a second time that night to show him the proof of her attempted murder. If he and Stefan had had the decency to believe her before, she wouldn't have had to. And the only reason she had discovered the proof for herself was because that damned virgin's blood was right next to it on the sheet, and that had drawn her eyes to the spot. But when she did notice it, she had stopped fretting about Stefan and had gone straight to Serge's room. Someone had to believe her about what had happened tonight, and she wasn't about to try to convince Stefan again.

Besides, after she'd thought about it, and got angry about it, she decided she didn't want Stefan seeing that blood on the sheet, so she hadn't even considered going to him with what she'd found. If his anger was so blinding that he could miss something so monumental, the fact that she had willingly given him her virginity, then he could rot before she'd tell him— or show him.

That she hadn't heard Alicia return to her own room possibly had a little to do with her decision. And she had listened for her, too. But obviously Stefan had gone back to spend the rest of the night with his mistress, was curled up in bed with her now, sleeping or... He could definitely rot.

She watched Serge as he stuck his finger through the hole, right into a similar hole in the mattress beneath. "It's the cut of a knife, your Highness," he said, drawing the same conclusion she had.

"Exactly. "

"I'll get Stefan."

"Don't bother. He'll just think I put it there. But I want at least one of you to believe me and take precautions, because I wasn't dreaming tonight. A sound woke me, I reached for my knife, but I was too slow. My pillow was used to try and suffocate me. I finally must have pricked one of the attacker's arms with my knife—"

"Then that is his blood on the sheet?"

"No," she gritted out. "As I was saying, he released the pillow and I immediately rolled off the bed. But it was so dark in here, he might not have realized I wasn't in the bed anymore. It looks like he tried to stab me then, and I guess he might have tried again if I hadn't started screaming."

"Then you were cut?"

She wished he would stop worrying over that red stain. "No, I wasn't."