"I just can't. I don't know why." She gulped. "But you can."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing grin. "Not an answer I was expecting, but certainly one I endorse." He knelt above her and pushed the chemise higher and higher until it passed her breasts and slid over her head.

Miranda felt the chill air blow over her bare skin, but strangely, she no longer felt any need to cover herself. It seemed perfectly natural that this man should be able to see and touch every last inch of her. His eyes raked possessively over her glowing skin, and she thrilled at the fierceness of his expression. She wanted to belong to him in every way a woman could belong to a man. She wanted to lose herself in his heat and strength.

And she wanted him to surrender to her with equal totality.

She reached up and laid her hand against his chest, allowing her fingertips to brush over his flat brown nipple. He flinched in reaction.

"Did I hurt you?" she whispered anxiously.

He shook his head. "Again," he rasped.

Imitating his earlier caresses, she caught the very tip of his nipple between her thumb and forefinger. It hardened under her touch, causing her to smile with delight. Like a child discovering a new toy, she reached out to play with the other. Turner, realizing that he was rapidly losing control under her curious fingers, clapped his hand over hers, holding it immobile. He stared down at her for a full minute, his blue eyes fierce. His gaze was so intense that Miranda had to fight the urge to look away. But she forced herself to keep her eyes level with his. She wanted him to know that she wasn't afraid, that she wasn't ashamed, and most importantly, that she'd meant it when she said she loved him.

"Touch me," she whispered.

But he seemed frozen in place, his hand still holding hers to his chest. He looked odd, torn, almost…afraid.

"I don't want to hurt you," he rasped.

And she wasn't sure how she had come to reassure him, but she murmured, "You won't."

"I- "

"Please," she begged. She needed him. She needed him now.

Her impassioned plea broke through his reserve, and with a groan he pulled her up against him for a hard kiss before lowering her back to the bed. This time he came along with her, the hard length of his body pressing her breasts flat. His hands were everywhere, and he was moaning her name, and each touch, each sound seemed to stoke the flame within her.

She needed to feel him. Every inch.

She yanked at his makeshift kilt, wanting to get rid of the last barrier between them. She felt the friction of it sliding away, and then there was nothing there…except Turner.

She gasped at his arousal. "Oh, my God."

And that made him chuckle. "No, just me." He buried his face in the hollow of her neck. "Told you that already."

"But you're so…"

"Big?" He smiled against her. "That's your fault, sweetling."

"Oh, no." She squirmed beneath him. "I couldn't have done that."

He pressed himself more firmly against her. "Shhh."

"But I want to…"

"You will." He silenced her with a hot kiss, not even sure what he'd just promised her. Once he had her moaning again, he dragged his mouth away from hers, forging a searing path down to her navel. His tongue traced a circle around it and then dipped scandalously inside. His hands were at her thighs, easing them open, spreading her for his invasion.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to devour her, but he did not think she was ready for such an intimacy, so instead, he pushed one of his hands up…

And slipped one finger inside.

"Turner!" she cried, and he could not help but smile with satisfaction. He flicked his thumb over the soft, pink folds, reveling in the way she was writhing beneath him. He had to hold her hips firmly down with his free hand just to keep her from rolling off the bed.

"Open for me," he groaned, dragging his mouth back up to hers.

He heard her let out a little cry of pleasure, and her legs seemed almost to melt, sliding farther apart until the tip of his arousal was pressing against her, probing her softness. Turner moved his lips to her ear and whispered, "I'm going to make love to you now."

Breathless, she nodded.

"I'm going to make you mine."

"Oh, yes, please."

He moved slowly forward, patient against her tight innocence. It was killing him, but he was going to restrain himself. He wanted more than anything to plunge into her with hard, furious strokes, but that would have to wait for another time. Not her first.

"Turner?" she whispered, and he realized he'd held still for several seconds. Gritting his teeth, he slowly withdrew until only the very tip of him remained inside her.

Miranda clutched at his shoulders. "Oh, no, Turner. Don't go!"

"Shhh. Don't worry. I'm still here." He moved back in.

"Don't leave me," she whispered.

"I won't." He reached her maidenhead and groaned at its resistance. "This is going to hurt, Miranda."

"I don't care." Her fingers bit into his skin.

"You may later." He pressed a little farther, trying to go as gently as possible.

She arched beneath him, moaning his name. Her arms were wrapped around him, and her fingers pressed spasmodically into his back. "Please, Turner," she begged. "Oh, please. Please, please."

Unable to control himself any longer, Turner plunged forward to the hilt, shuddering at the exquisite feeling of her squeezing around him. But Miranda stiffened beneath him, and he heard her wince.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, trying to keep still and ignore the painful demands of his body. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Does it hurt?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

He kissed away the tiny tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Don't lie."

"Just a little," she admitted in a whisper. "It was more surprise than anything else."

"I'll make it better," he said fervently. "I promise I will." Propping himself up on this forearms to keep her free of his weight, he began again to move- slow, sure strokes, each bringing a jolt of pure desire with its sweet friction.

And all the while, his jaw was clenched in concentration, every muscle in his body tight and coiled with the strain of keeping himself in check. In and out, in and out, he chanted to himself. If he moved off rhythm for even just a second, he'd lose control completely. He had to keep this good for her. He wasn't worried for himself- he knew he would reach heaven before the night was through.

But for Miranda…All he knew was that he felt an intense responsibility to make sure that she found bliss as well. He'd never been with a virgin before, so he wasn't certain how likely this would be, but by God, he was going to try. He was afraid that even speaking would set him off, but he managed to say, "How do you feel?"

Miranda opened her eyes and blinked. "Good." She sounded surprised. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"At all?"

She shook her head. "I feel splendid. And…hungry." She ran her fingers hesitantly along the length of his back.

Turner shuddered at her feather-light touch and felt his control slipping.

"How do you feel?" she whispered. "Are you hungry, too?"

He grunted something she couldn't understand and began to move faster. Miranda felt a quickening in her abdomen, then an unbearable tightness. Her fingers and toes began to tingle, and then just when she was certain that her body would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces, something inside her snapped, and her hips jerked up off the mattress with such force that she actually lifted him.

"Oh, Turner!" she yelled. "Help me!"

He pumped forward relentlessly. "I will," he groaned. "I swear it." And then he cried out, and his face looked almost pained, and then finally, he breathed, and he sank against her.

They lay entwined for several minutes, damp with exertion. Miranda loved his weight on top of her, loved this feeling of languid contentment. She idly stroked his hair with her hand, wishing the world around them would just go away. How long could they stay here, cocooned in the small hunting lodge, before they would be missed?

"How do you feel?" she asked softly.

His lips curled into a boyish smile. "How do you think I feel?"

"Good, I hope."

He rolled off her, propped himself up on one elbow, and caught her under her chin with two fingers. "Good, I know," he said, deliberately emphasizing the final word.

Miranda smiled. One couldn't hope for better than that.

"How do you feel?" he said quietly, concern marking his brow. "Are you sore?"

"I don't think so." She shifted her weight as if to test her body. "I might be later."

"You will."

Miranda frowned. Had he so much experience deflowering virgins, then? He'd said Leticia had already been with child when they'd married. And then she pushed the thought from her mind. She did not want to be thinking of Leticia. Not now. Turner's dead wife had no place in bed with them.

And she found herself dreaming of babies. Little blond ones, with bright blue eyes, smiling up at her with delight. A miniature Turner, that's what she wanted. She supposed a babe might take after her and be saddled with her less remarkable coloring, but in her mind, it was all Turner, right down to the dimples.

When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him gazing down at her, and he touched her mouth, right where the corner had been curling up. "What has you in such a reverie?" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Miranda avoided his gaze, embarrassed by the direction of her thoughts. "Nothing important," she murmured. "Is it still raining?"

"I don't know," he replied, and he rose to peek out the window.