She yanked on his hair until he raised his head. "I am naked."

He skimmed his hand down her torso and tangled his fingers in the golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. "Not exactly." He crouched down and removed her shoes, then leisurely rolled off each stocking. Then he stood, slowly dragging his hands up her body. "Now you are naked. And there is nothing unfair about it."

"Except the fact that you are fully clothed. A problem I would like solved immediately."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're very demanding?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're infuriatingly slow?"

"My clothing can be removed in less than thirty seconds," he said, reaching for his waistcoat.

She stayed his hands with her own. "Oh, no. You undressed me. I want to undress you."

"Very well." He spread his arms. "Be my guest."

Satisfaction, mixed with a hint of uncertainty, flared in her eyes, and she set about working on the buttons of his waistcoat. He watched her, her brow furrowed with concentration, and the wave of love that washed through him nearly drowned him. Unable to keep from touching her, he slowly combed his hands through her silky hair.

"You're distracting me," she said, glancing up at him.

"Would you like some help?"

She shook her head. "I want to do it."

"What happened to your impatience?" he teased.

She looked up again, this time her gaze serious. "It's still there. But I want to savor this. Remember every moment. Every touch."

And just like that, she managed to cut him off at the knees. He remained still, in an agony of anticipation as she finally slid his waistcoat off his shoulders. Drew his shirt from his breeches. He helped her pull the shirt over his head, then fought to remain still as she ran her hands over his shoulders, chest, and abdomen. Everywhere she touched felt as if fire burned beneath his skin.

She stepped forward and pressed her lips against the center of his chest, dragging a deep moan of pleasure from him. When she kissed her way across his skin to circle his nipple with her tongue, his head dropped back, and he groaned. Bloody hell, he didn't know how much of this he was going to be able to take.

"You like that?" she asked, flicking her tongue over him again.

"Yes. God, yes. If you expect conversation…" His words turned into a moan when she drew his nipple into the heat of her mouth.

"If I expect conversation… what?" she whispered, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above his breeches.

A heated shiver raced through him. He spoke the only word he could manage. "Huh?"

A delighted sound came from her. "Hmmm. I believe I detect a crack in the marblelike exterior. Indeed, I think the granite has a pulse. Interesting."

Bloody hell. Using his own brand of comparisons against him. If he'd been able to speak coherently, he surely would have told her how annoying that was. Perhaps he would have tried anyway, but just then she pressed her palm against his erection. He sucked in a sharp breath, one he released with a low groan as he thrust helplessly into her hand.

"I want these breeches off, Gideon."

Thank God. Without an instant's hesitation, he stepped to the bed and sat to jerk off his boots. He would have wagered that no man in history had ever removed his breeches faster. After he'd tossed them aside, he stood.

She reached out and brushed her fingers over his jutting arousal. Clearly encouraged by the low growl of approval that vibrated in his throat, she stroked the length of him, tentatively at first but then with growing confidence as his breathing turned choppy and erratic. When she wrapped her fingers around him and lightly squeezed, he knew he was done.

"Can't take any more," he managed in a hoarse whisper, gently grabbing her hand. Bending his knees, he scooped her into his arms and laid her across the bed. He ran his hands up her smooth legs, urging her thighs apart. Golden curls surrounded her glistening sex, her folds wet and swollen, a sight that literally brought him to his knees. Dropping down at the edge of the bed, he pulled her toward him. Draped her thighs over his shoulders. Slipped his hands beneath her. And lifted her to his mouth.

Her groan of pleasure filled the room, echoing through his head. He'd never expected to be able to touch her like this again, and he savored every second, determined to bring her as much pleasure as he could. Circling and teasing, licking and thrusting, tasting, delving, he pushed her until she cried out with her climax.

When her tremors subsided, he kissed his way up her torso. Explored the indent of her navel. Discovered a trio of tiny birthmarks dotting her stomach. Nuzzled her soft breasts. Laved their taut peaks.

Shifting her higher on the bed, so her head rested on his pillow, he settled himself between her thighs. She looked up at him through eyes hazy with arousal and framed his face between her hands. "Again," she whispered. "I want to feel that magic again."

Propping his weight on his forearms, he brushed the head of his erection along her wet folds and prayed he'd last long enough to grant her request. Unable to wait any longer, he eased inside her. When he reached the barrier of her maidenhead, he paused, then thrust.

A startled cry escaped her, and he gritted his teeth, determined not to move. But bloody hell, it was nearly an impossible task. She was so tight and he was so hard… he released a shuddering breath. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, praying he hadn't.

She shook her head. "No. I was just… surprised. I feel… filled. With you." She pressed her pelvis into his, and her eyes drifted closed. "It is… delightful. Incredible. Delicious. Extraordinary. I cannot possibly choose just one word."

Bloody hell, he couldn't even think of one word. He slowly withdrew, nearly all the way, before sinking deep inside her again, his breath a hiss of pleasure at the hot, slick friction. Another leisurely withdrawal, followed by a slow, deep thrust, again, and again, his muscles straining with the effort of holding back. She writhed beneath him, her movements awkward at first, but then she caught his rhythm.

"Open your eyes, Julianne."

Her lids blinked open, and her blue depths pulled at his soul. "Wrap your legs around me," he ground out. She did as he bade and he thrust deeper. Harder. Faster. She moaned his name and arched beneath him, her inner walls pulsing around him, and he clenched his jaw against the intense pleasure. With an effort that nearly killed him, he withdrew and gathered her into his arms, pressing his erection tightly between them. Burying his head in the fragrant space where her neck and shoulder met, he let his release roar through him, groaning her name over and over, like a prayer.

For a long moment he simply lay there, breathing her in, catching his breath. Then he raised his head and stilled. At the sight of Julianne, her hair spread about her like a golden halo, her lips parted and swollen from his kiss, her eyes heavy-lidded with the look of a woman well loved. Which is exactly what she was. Well loved. With everything he had. His heart. His soul. And it killed him that through no fault of either of them, that simply by accidents of birth, that wasn't enough.

He cupped her cheek in his hand and brushed his thumb over her plump lower lip. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

"Gideon…" she breathed against his mouth.

He lifted his head. "Julianne."

"That was… you are…" She breathed out a long hum of pleasure. "Oh, my."

"Yes, it was. And yes, you are."

And now it was over. He had to take her back. To her world. To her family.

And her fiancé.

She reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. Then looked at him through very serious eyes. "How?" she whispered. "How am I going to live the rest of my life without knowing this again?"

A lump swelled his throat. Christ. Now he knew what it felt like to die inside. "I wish I had the answer. Because I need to know it as well."

Only there was no answer. Just his life stretching out before him. A life that didn't include Julianne.


* * *

When the hack pulled up in front of the duke's town house, Julianne had to force herself to exit the vehicle. Lights blazed from every window, and based on the shadows moving past the panes of glass, it was clear the house was still crowded. She didn't want to leave the intimate interior where Gideon had held her hand during the entire ride. Where his leg had rested against hers and he'd pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that had tasted unmistakably of good-bye.

But in her heart she'd resolved that it wasn't good-bye. Not yet. He would still be in her house for two more days. Two more nights. And she intended to see to it that they spent as many hours together during that time as possible.

Gideon had just helped her alight when the front door opened. Standing in the foyer were her father and a man she recognized as Charles Rayburn, the magistrate, whom she'd met two months ago when he and Gideon were investigating the last spree of crimes plaguing Mayfair.

Mr. Rayburn hurried down the steps, followed by Julianne's father. "What in God's name-" began her father, but Gideon cut him off, saying tersely, "Lady Julianne was kidnapped from the party." He gave a quick description of her ordeal, leaving out, she noticed, any mention of Jack Mayne and the kidnappers' plan to kill Gideon himself. He concluded his story with, "I sent a message to your office, Rayburn, giving you the kidnappers' location."