He had to press his lips tight to stop them from curving. He straightened. “I didn’t mean to suggest I’d bespelled you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you thought I was so blinded by your charms I didn’t know what I was doing?”

“No, I didn’t think that, either. I do think I shouldn’t have kissed you in the first place.”

“Why?” She searched his eyes. Her expression grew troubled, sad. She swallowed. “Because of-”

“No!” He suddenly realized what tack her mind had taken; he cut her off with a gesture. “Not because of the suspicion leveled at you-good God!” His hand was running through his hair again, thoroughly disarranging the neatly cut locks; he abruptly lowered it. “It’s nothing to do with that.” It was all to do with him and her. “It’s because…”

He looked at her, met her green and gold eyes, let whatever it was that was in him reach for her, let the connection rise…He could almost feel the passion and desire surge to life, rippling between them.

“It’s because of that. This.” His voice had lowered, deepened; he spoke slowly, clearly. “Whatever it is that’s sprung to life between us.”

She didn’t say anything; eyes locked with his, she was listening, following.

He stepped away from the window, not directly toward her; slowly, he circled her. “It’s because the more I’m with you”-he prowled to stand directly behind her with only an inch separating their bodies-“the more I want to kiss you, and not just your lips.”

Reaching around her, he raised his hands; he didn’t touch her, but sculpted the air less than an inch from her body, slowly, caressingly running his palms over her shoulders, slowly down, over and around her breasts, her waist, her stomach, hips and thighs. His lips by her ear, he murmured, “I want to kiss your breasts, explore every inch of your body, taste every inch of your skin. I want to possess you utterly-” He broke off, drew in a quick breath, censored the too-explicit words that had leapt to his tongue. “I want to know your passion, all of it, and give you mine.”

He could feel desire beating at him with wings of heat; certainly she could feel it, too. Passion roiled about them, an almost palpable vortex drawing them in, down, under.

“I can’t be near you and not want you-not want to lie with you, to share every secret of your body and make it, and you, mine.”

Looking down at her, standing straight and silent before him, listening to and following his every word, he had to fight to lower his hands, to return them to his sides without seizing her.

He succeeded, and let his relief show in a long sigh. Softly, he said, “Doesn’t it scare you?” After a moment, he murmured, “God knows, it scares me.”

For half a minute, she said nothing, then, slowly, she turned and faced him. Only an inch separated her breasts from his chest.

She looked into his eyes; her expression was open, honest, direct-and determined. “Yes, I can feel it, but I fear death, not life. I fear dying without ever living, without ever knowing, without experiencing this-precisely this. Above all, this.”

Her eyes steady on his, she drew breath and went on, “I don’t know what might or might not happen, or come to be, or what dangers or risks are involved, but I don’t care. Because while I’m facing dangers and taking risks, I’ll be living, and not simply existing as I have been for so long.”

Her honesty demanded his. Her determination undermined his good intentions. “Do you know what you’re saying-what you’re inviting?”

“Yes.” Her lashes fluttered, then she met his eyes again. “You’ve been blatantly honest.”

Not honest enough. “I can’t promise…anything. I don’t know what might develop, how much of me I’ll be able to give you. I’ve never…” His lips twisted, but he held her gaze. “Been with a lady like you before.”

A lady who affected him so profoundly, in so many ways, in so intense a fashion. He had no idea how a marriage between them would work.

“I didn’t ask for any promises.”

Her voice remained steady, as did her gaze. He still felt driven to protect her. “Nevertheless, I’ll make you one. If at any time you want to call a halt, to retreat to a safer distance for a time, you need only say.”

He reached for her as the words fell from his lips. Her eyes widened as he gathered her to him, fully into his arms; her hands gripped his upper arms, yet as he lowered his head, she made no attempt to push back.

Instead, she tilted up her face, and their lips met.

And there was no drawing back. Not for him, not for her.

The vortex closed around them.

Passion rose, a hot wave, and sighed through them, powerful, yet restrained, the steady pull of an undertow beneath the waves. Restrained enough for the novelty to shine-for them both.

His head spun. This was so completely different from any other time, any other kiss…she was so completely different from any other woman.

The knowledge rocked him, left him open to a surge of feeling that colored every sensation, that turned her soft lips into a new and enthralling wonderland, transformed her body into a feminine landscape he had to explore-as if it were his first time. Slowly. Savoring every step, every moment.

Jacqueline parted her lips, invited him to take-and gloried when he did. Yet there seemed no rush, no urgency, no overwhelming, grasping passion; this, it seemed, was a time for exploration, for learning.

There was an unadorned, uncomplicated hunger in his kiss; she responded in kind, taking what he offered, taking all she needed. Pushing her arms up, she twined them about his neck, shuddered delicately when his arms tightened in response, drawing her fully against him, tight breasts to the hard wall of his chest, her hips to his rock-hard thighs.

No part of him seemed soft; against her giving flesh, his body was all muscle and bone, powerful, alien-all male. Her rational mind knew she ought to feel frightened, helpless and threatened by that potent strength, yet, bemused, she accepted that she didn’t.

If anything, she delighted in the contrast, his maleness emphasizing the female in her; if anything, she felt anticipation rise because of the differences, because of their promise.

His hands, long-fingered and strong, spread over her sides, gripping, then easing and moving over her back.

Spreading heat, a distracting warmth that rose even higher, spread even more when he angled his head and deepened the kiss. Eagerly, she pressed closer and followed his lead, tempted and very willing.

One hand moved down to the back of her waist, pressing there, locking her to him. The other glided up to curve over her shoulder, lingered there, close to her throat, warm palm against her exposed skin, then smoothly slid down, tantalizingly tracing the bare skin above her bodice before sliding down and around to close over one breast.

She lost what little breath she possessed, felt something akin to lightning streak down her nerves as he weighed her firm flesh, as he blatantly explored the full curves, expertly caressed, then closed his hand and gently kneaded.

A shudder of pure pleasure racked her; worried he might misinterpret, she pressed closer still, slid her hands from his nape into his hair, held his head steady as she kissed him, and with lips and tongue begged for more.

He understood; she felt his lips curve fractionally, then he accepted her unvoiced invitation, kissed her even more deeply, even more intimately, his tongue surging against hers in a rhythm she’d never known yet at some level recognized.

Her head started to spin; her wits slowly sank into a haze of warm delight.

His hands firmed; the one at her breast fondled, then his clever fingers sought out the peak, and rolled it, squeezed until she gasped through the kiss. Until pleasure bloomed and spread under her skin, like a wave rolling through her, pooling low to pulse between her thighs.

He leaned back against the window frame, drawing her with him; his artful fingers continued to play with her nipple, now tightly furled, while his other hand eased from her waist and slid down, over her hips, over her bottom, caressed, increasingly explicitly fondled, then cupped, closed, kneaded.

Her knees buckled. He held her, helpless, increasingly heated, increasingly wanting. Desire flared and spread under her skin; with hands and mouth, lips and tongue, he fed the conflagration.

She clutched his head, kissed him back, felt an unfamiliar urgency rise-

Footsteps pounded on the stairs beyond the door, coming swiftly up.

They broke from the kiss. She heard a muttered curse, realized it wasn’t hers, albeit she agreed with the sentiment.

Gerrard gripped her waist and set her back against the window frame; stepping away, he grabbed a sketch pad and pencil.

The door burst open. Barnaby stood in the doorway, breathing hard, his color high.

They blinked at him.

He blinked back, then waved. “Sorry-but…” He looked at Gerrard. “We’ve found a body.”


I was out walking-I took the path along the northern ridge.” Barnaby glanced over his shoulder as the three of them hurried along the path through the kitchen garden. “The path cuts through the Garden of Hades-it’s all cypress trees, a small forest of them. I noticed a section of bank higher up the ridge had crumbled away…there looked to be material, and an odd shape, so I climbed up to take a look.”

Insatiably curious-Gerrard had said Barnaby was so. Barnaby glanced back at her. Jacqueline met his worried look with grim determination. “Who is it?” she asked.

Barnaby cast an imploring look at Gerrard, then faced forward. “I couldn’t say. It’s not a…a recently deceased body.”

Her stomach lurched, but she clenched her teeth. They’d had a brief altercation in the studio, when Barnaby had tried to leave her behind. Gerrard had agreed with him, but wisely hadn’t said so; in the end, he’d taken her arm and let her accompany them.