Her gaze wandered back up his face. Such a beautiful, handsome face. Relaxed in sleep, his features softened, he looked almost boyish, with a single lock of raven hair falling over his forehead. An overwhelming rush of tenderness washed over her, for this man who, in spite of his injuries, had exhausted himself building a stone wall with two young boys, then carried Nathan all the way back to the house, and comforted her in a way no one else could have.

She loved him.

God help her, she loved him.

Unable to stop herself, she dropped to her knees next to the sofa, her eyes devouring the man who had stolen her heart. A heart she'd never thought to give, or believed any man would want. She doubted that Stephen would want it, but it was his just the same.

Her mind told her to leave-there was no point prolonging the sweet agony of wanting what she couldn't have, but her inner yearnings rebelled and won. Just this once she'd listen to her longings, and she longed to touch him. Not as she had while she'd nursed him through his fever, with the impersonal touch of a caregiver, but as a woman touched a man. A man she loved.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she reached out and gently brushed the lock of hair from his brow. His eyelashes formed crescent shadows against his cheeks, and his lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and deep. She feathered a light fingertip down his stubbled cheek, loving the prickly rasp against her skin.

She remained motionless for several wondrous minutes, on her knees, her rapt gaze roving from his bronze chest up to his handsome face, and back again. I must stop this. I don't want to risk that he'll awaken and find me gawking like an adoring slave. Knowing she had to, but reluctant just the same, she started to rise.

"Don't stop."

Hayley froze at the softly whispered words. Her startled gaze flew to Stephen's face. His eyes were half opened and he was regarding her with an unfathomable, hooded expression. Hot waves of embarrassed consternation suffused her, rendering her speechless.

Stephen reached out and gently captured her hand and brought it to his chest, covering it with his own. Soft springy hair grazed her palm and the heat of his skin sizzled right through to her very soul.

"Don't stop," he whispered again, his gaze penetrating and intense. "Touch me." He pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, then slid it across his hair-roughened skin. "Like that."

Hayley stared at him, mesmerized by the flames dancing in his eyes. His hot gaze bore into her, commanding her to do as he bid. Her always reliable common sense, the inner voice that should be telling her to stop, to think of her reputation, to consider the consequences of her actions, remained stubbornly silent. The woman in her who had been pushed aside and forgotten about for so long emerged, filled with love and needs and desire. For this man whose heart thumped against her fingers.

She looked at her hand lying against his chest, then tentatively glided her palm across the expanse of warm skin, his hair tickling her palm.

A low gasp escaped him and her gaze flew back to his in alarm. "Did I hurt you?" she whispered, stricken.

He slowly shook his head. "No."

"Then why did you groan?"

"Because it felt… so …good. Do it again."

Hayley's mouth went dry. She gently moved her hand across his chest once again, her gaze locked to his. She watched in stunned amazement as his eyes darkened to green smoke.

Emboldened, she ran her hand slowly over him, her fingers gliding over his taut muscles. When her fingertips bushed over one of his small, flat nipples, he sucked in a hissing breath, but she could tell she had not hurt him.

Fascinated, she brought her other hand to his chest, and allowed her curious fingers to touch him, sifting through the dark mat of hair covering his warm skin. She watched in delighted amazement when his muscles tensed and contracted from her gentle ministrations.

She continued touching him, her strokes long and slow. Soon his shirt, open though it was, proved a hindrance to her questing hands. Without a word, he unfastened the last several buttons, pulled the shirttails from his breeches, then guided her hands back to him.

Separating the soft material, she laid his torso entirely bare to her avid eyes. Dear God, he was magnificent. All hard muscle and golden skin sprinkled with dark hair. No longer hesitant, she ran eager hands over him, growing bolder with each stroke of her palms across his body. His sighs grew more lengthy and his growls of pleasure deeper with each pass of her hands.

Heat flooded her system. He felt so good. So vibrant and alive. His masculine scent filled her head: the clean woodsy fragrance that belonged to him alone. She ached with the sudden need to press her lips against his warm flesh. To taste the wonder her hands felt.

But before she could act on her impulse, he grabbed her wrists. Holding her hands, he dragged himself to a sitting position, then dropped his forehead onto their intertwined fingertips and drew in a ragged-sounding breath.

"I thought you didn't want me to stop," Hayley whispered. I don't want to stop. Please don't make me. Just this once, let me have what I want.

He lifted his head and their eyes met. "I didn't. I don't," he said in a husky voice. "But I…"

His words trailed off when Hayley freed one of her hands and touched the bandage on his arm. "Did I hurt you?"

A strangled sound escaped his throat and he pulled her hand away. "God, no, Hayley, you didn't hurt me. You pleased me. Very much. Too much."

"Oh. I see." But she didn't see at all. She ached to touch him again, but he clearly didn't want her to. He said he enjoyed her touch, but he made her stop. Fiery embarrassment heated her. Dear God, what he must think of her! She had to get away from him before she made more of a fool out of herself. What was I thinking? It seemed she only had to look at this man and she lost her mind.

Extricating her hands from between his, she stood and fought to swallow the tears tightening her throat. "I'm sorry I woke you. I'll leave you to your reading." She turned to leave, but hadn't even managed to walk one step before he halted her progress, encircling her wrist with his strong fingers.

She looked down at him sitting on the sofa, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"To hell with being noble," he muttered. He tugged on her hand, pulling her down until she sat across his lap.

"Put your arms around my neck," he whispered, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. Hayley hesitated, but when he breathed "Please," she was lost. The instant she wrapped her arms around him, she found herself the recipient of a long, slow, deep, melting kiss that robbed her of her wits.

Stephen kissed her again and again, and with each passing moment his control slipped another notch. The touch of her hands, her tongue's silky caress against his, her rose-scented skin, were driving him mad. His arousal strained against his tight breeches, aching with want. He should have let her leave when he had the chance, but that look of hurt confusion on her face had pierced his heart.

She sighed his name and he pressed her back into the soft cushions, angling his body so he lay directly on top of her. His inner voice screamed at him, Stop! Get off her! Leave her the hell alone! This is wrong.

But it felt so right.

Pushing his conscience aside, he mentally rationalized that he only wanted to kiss her. Nothing more. Just a kiss … just one more kiss…

But stopping there proved impossible.

She overwhelmed him on every level, making coherent thought impossible. He cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her nipples, which immediately peaked into hard points. Hayley moaned and tunneled her fingers through his hair, urging him closer. Unable to stop himself, he stroked one hand down her body, catching the hem of her gown and slowly pulling it up. He insinuated his hand under the soft muslin and trailed his fingers up her calf. When his fingers reached her knee, they encountered the tie to her cotton drawers, a barrier he made fast work of.

As his fingers continued their leisurely exploration up her leg, he reveled in the throaty, breathless moans escaping her. When his hand reached the juncture between her thighs, her entire body tensed.

"Stephen," she whispered against his lips.

Raising his head, he gazed down into her luminous, desire-dilated eyes. His fingers lightly caressed her. "Spread your legs for me, Hayley. I want to touch you. I need to feel you."

Her gaze never wavering from his, she obeyed.

His fingers skimmed upward and caressed her soft folds of womanly flesh, eliciting a growl of masculine lust from him. She was wet and slippery, warm and moist, and he lost himself in the feel of her, the sight of her throwing her head back and reveling in the discovery of new sensations.

While she writhed beneath his caress, clutching his shoulders, he gently eased a finger inside her, watching her all the while. Dear God, she was so hot and so tight. He moved his finger slowly in and out of her body, watching her passion grow, her breathing become deeper and faster. He slipped a second finger inside her and groaned aloud when her velvety walls clutched at him.

She pushed herself against his hand, and he knew what she sought, understood how desperate and hot she felt. He felt so himself.

"Stephen," she whispered, her voice a breathless pant, "I feel so strange. So achy, and wonderful, and …ohhh!" Her words ended on a surprised exclamation.

He watched, transfixed, as she climaxed. She responded with total abandon, her back arching, hips bucking against him. When she fell back against the cushions, sated, he slipped his fingers from her body. Rolling their bodies onto their sides, he gathered her against his hammering heart, burying his face in her fragrant hair. He'd never seen anything more erotic, more sensual, than Hayley in the throes of her first passion. It was a miracle he hadn't exploded himself, although in truth, he nearly had.