Chapter 4

“Michele? Baby?” Ian felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach, shock and something else jolting through him. And with that came a rush of hunger so intense he groaned aloud with it, shuddering as he fought to leash the wild urges of his body. He knew he’d never forgive himself if he hurt or frightened her, and it was only that knowledge that enabled him to find a measure of control.

She was looking up at him, her haunting eyes glimmering with wetness, her lips trembling. Slowly, the hands clutching his shoulders slid up around his neck, and her body moved tentatively beneath him. Her breath caught. “Ian?” she whispered.

He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, again and again until a kitten-like sound escaped her and she moved restlessly under him. Slowly, with exquisite care, he pressed deeper into her trembling body.

Michele was astonished at the sensations, dimly shocked at the stark intimacy. She could feel her flesh stretching to admit him, and then an increasing pressure that brought a flash of pain. Even with that, she didn’t want him to stop, because deeper than the pain was an intolerable burning that cried out for his complete possession. She hadn’t realized a man could be so strong, the male force of him compelling her to accept whatever was necessary because satisfying the need he had aroused in her was all that mattered.

He was murmuring to her huskily, tender words of comfort, kissing away the tears that trickled down over her temples. Then she felt a sharper pain as something gave way inside her, and even as she cried out she was conscious of nothing but a fierce satisfaction. His heavy weight settled slowly, fully on her, and the last whisper of pain ebbed as she felt him throbbing inside her. It was an utterly alien sensation, and yet she had never felt anything more right.

“Michele?” He was braced on his forearms, his eyes darkened to sapphire as they searched her face, and his breathing was harsh and strained.

The hovering tension began spreading through her again, and her arms tightened around his neck. All the unfamiliar feelings tugged at her senses, and she made an unconscious sound of pleasure. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

A hoarse groan rattled in Ian’s chest as he briefly considered the sheer impossibility of that. It would kill him to stop now, to withdraw from the hot velvety clasp of her body. Electric tremors shook his muscles, and the ache in his loins was a pounding torment. The strain of holding himself rigidly back for so long was like floodwaters battering a dam, and he knew he was a whisper away from going absolutely berserk.

He clamped his teeth together and began moving slowly inside her, aware on some dim level of his mind that he had never felt anything like this. The pleasure was unbelievable; his desire had reached a peak of sweet torment. His need for the woman whose slender body cradled his had gone beyond the point of madness; he felt consumed by it—and by her.

The soft sounds she made roused an almost primitive savagery in him, a fierce possessiveness as unfamiliar as it was powerful. She was his, he felt it with every fiber of his being. He wanted to bury himself in her, to fuse their bodies until nothing this side of death could ever separate them.

Michele felt that wild need take hold of her again, gripping her mind and senses so tightly that she could only give in to instinct. Her body knew how to match his rhythm, how to give itself totally to him and the fiery desire between them. The feelings rose in her like a tide, a force of nature she had no hope of fighting or controlling. She said his name over and over, barely aware that she was crying again, that she was straining to reach some unimaginable place. And then she was there with a suddenness that stole what was left of her breath, violent waves of shattering pleasure thundering over her as a soundless wail tore free inside her.

Ian held her strongly as she writhed under him, the internal shudders of her ecstasy caressing him with a stark pleasure that was agony. The final fragile thread of his control snapped, and he drove into her wildly, blind and deaf to everything except the woman in his arms and the exploding force of his release.

Michele felt herself floating for what seemed like a long time, her body limp and sated. She was gradually aware of her surroundings, of his heavy weight, of dim aftershocks somewhere deep inside her. He was still with her, and she loved the stark intimacy of that sensation. She loved the feeling of his hard body covering hers, the smooth strength of his hips against the insides of her thighs, the mat of hair on his chest sensual against her breasts. She loved the way the muscles of his back and shoulders felt under her probing touch.

She loved him.

It should have come as a shock, that realization, but instead it crept gently into her mind and settled there as if a place had been made for it long ago. She understood now why her need for him had been so great, why she had taken fire at his simplest touch and offered herself to him without hesitation. She loved him. He was the last man in the world she should have loved, and the odds against them were so great it was terrifying, but none of that mattered right now.

She loved him. And she let herself luxuriate in that strange and wonderful new feeling without counting the cost of it.

Ian pushed himself up on his elbows, his eyes still darkened as they gazed down at her. “I’m sorry I hurt you, baby,” he murmured huskily.

Michele had a vague memory of pain, but it didn’t seem important; like all pain, once gone it became only a word. She lifted her head to kiss him, then smiled.

He felt his heart lurch, the curve of her lips and the misty depths of her eyes getting to him in some mysterious way he couldn’t even name. “You should have told me,” he said, hearing the rasp of his voice.

“Why?” she asked softly. “Would you have stopped?”

He half closed his eyes. “I couldn’t have stopped if the roof had caved in on us,” he told her. “Lord, Michele, you had me so crazy I hardly knew what I was doing.”

“You did just fine,” she assured him solemnly.

He couldn’t help but smile, his worry about having hurt her fading in the knowledge of her obvious pleasure and contentment. He kissed her gently, then began to ease away.

Her legs tightened. “Don’t go. I like you there.”

“I like me here, too. But I’m too heavy for you.”

She shook her head slightly, her arms remaining securely around his neck. “No, you aren’t.” Her eyes were closing, and her voice was fading a bit. “Stay with me.”

Ian knew she was drifting off to sleep, the culmination of days of tension and their fierce lovemaking having the inevitable effect on her. He was exhausted himself, but had no intention of giving way to sleep while she bore his weight. Despite her assurances, he knew he was too heavy to lie for long on her petite body.

So he kept his upper body braced on his arms and waited for sleep to envelop her completely. During those moments, he gazed down at her, very conscious of the fact that his desire had been merely blunted. Even now, as physically weary as he was, he could feel faint stirrings, tremors in his flesh, that told him another wave of need was not far off.

She seemed almost fragile as she cradled him in sleep, her slender, small-boned frame an exquisite but delicate vessel for the fiery passions that had blazed inside her with such unexpected and mesmerizing force. In her innocence, she’d been obviously surprised at the sensations of joining, yet totally involved in what was happening between them. Her capacity to give and receive pleasure was heart-stopping in its uninhibited simplicity.

Ian brushed a strand of silky black hair away from her temple, feeling his pulse quicken and the stirrings in his loins intensify. She was so beautiful, so wildly exciting.

The enormity of what they’d done swept over him, even though he tried to push the realization out of his mind. Carefully, he eased away from her, and when she murmured in sleepy protest gathered her into his arms. She immediately cuddled closer to his side, her peaceful sigh warm against his skin.

His own longing for sleep had vanished, chased away by the renewal of desire or by his disquieting thoughts. From the beginning, he had refused to look further than the present, intent on exploring what lay between them, defining it, forcing her to accept the reality of it. He had called it passion, but he knew it was more.

He also knew, only too well, that what could flourish in paradise would be brutally attacked in the real world. And the men who would attack it, his father and Michele’s especially, were experts in the destructive art of warfare. They’d give no quarter, either of them, no mercy even to their children.

Ian’s arms tightened around Michele as, finally and completely, he faced the truth of what they were up against. It wasn’t words now; it wasn’t some far off “what if,” an abstract battle that would be fought only if their rational minds weighed the risks and counted the struggle worthwhile. The time for deciding had long passed—if it had existed at all.

Maybe they’d never had a choice.

Michele was only vaguely aware of discomfort at first. She felt hot and sticky, and the brightness seeping behind her closed eyelids was annoying. Her internal clock told her it was the middle of the afternoon, and she wondered dimly why she was trying to sleep at such a ridiculous time of day. She shifted restlessly and abruptly felt trapped by something hard.

Her first impulse was to escape, but even as she lifted her head, she remembered where she was. And whom she was with. She opened her eyes, blinking at the brightness; the sunlight was really pouring in now, and no breeze found its way through the open balcony door to disturb the hot stillness.

Ian was looking at her gravely, both his arms holding her securely. “Hi.”

I am lying naked, she thought, wondering if she was supposed to feel shocked by that. I am lying naked on a fully made bed in the sunlight with a naked man.

She felt her lips twitch and smothered an absurd impulse to giggle. “Hi. Is it my imagination, or is it awfully hot in here?”

“It’s awfully hot. The air conditioner isn’t on.” His arms tightened briefly around her, and then he slid from the bed, totally unconcerned by his nudity, and picked her up.

“I can walk,” she noted idly, wondering if she could.

He kissed her, then turned toward the bathroom, ignoring her mild objection. He carried her into the small room, opened the shower stall and set her on her feet inside, then joined her and closed the door behind them.

Michele was feeling a bit unnerved by the sheer size of him in the small cubicle, and she was completely unprepared for the sudden blast of cool water over her heated skin. “Damn!” she gasped, pushing soaked hair out of her face and wondering when her braid had come undone.

Ian chuckled and kissed her briefly. “We need to cool off,” he said blandly.

“You could have warned me before you turned on the water,” she said, but it was only a murmur. Too overwhelmed by desire before, she hadn’t really looked at his body; she couldn’t help but look now, and what she saw fascinated her. She’d known he was big, but naked and enclosed with her in the shower stall his size and raw strength were compelling. He had the hard muscles of a construction worker rather than an architect, rippling under taut bronze skin. The thick mat of blond hair on his broad chest arrowed downward over his flat stomach, and as her gaze followed that path her mouth went dry.

“I think you had your eyes closed before,” he said, the words light, his voice deep.

She felt heat from a new source rise in her cheeks, but there was also a sharp stab of excitement at the knowledge that he was becoming aroused by her scrutiny. “I must have,” she admitted, meeting his darkened eyes a little shyly.

He smiled, then pulled her toward him a step, gently turned her so that her back was to him, and reached for a small bottle of shampoo to begin washing her hair.

Michele purred with pleasure. His long fingers felt wonderful moving over her scalp; at first the touch was soothing, but slowly tension spread through her. She could feel her heart thud hard, her breathing grow shallow. Obeying his touch, she turned again as he rinsed the lather from her hair.

His face was still, eyes very intent on her. He reached up to angle the stream of water slightly away from them, then picked up a bar of soap from the corner ledge of the stall and very slowly began washing her body.

Michele was still surprised that she felt no self-consciousness or embarrassment. It had to be due to Ian—the way he looked at her body, the way he touched her, made her feel beautiful and desired, made her feel proud that he found such pleasure in her. His hands stroked over her breasts gently, tracing their shape, brushing lightly over the tight nipples in a touch that brought fire to her sensitive skin. Then, with agonizing slowness, he slid a soapy hand down over her belly and between her thighs.

She gasped and reached for his shoulders to steady herself as her legs went weak and shaky, all her consciousness focused totally on what he was doing. The faint soreness she’d hardly been aware of became a different kind of ache, one she could barely endure. Hunger filled her; throbbing heat radiated outward from the core of her. His fingers probed gently, sending hot shivers of desire singing through her veins until she whimpered with the force of it.

Ian made a rough sound and then slowly withdrew his hand, sliding it over her hip and around to shape the curve of her buttock. “Easy,” he muttered, his face taut, and seemed to be telling himself that as well as her.

“Why?”

His eyes flared at the urgent protest of her voice, and he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to hurt you again. You’ll be sore, baby, you need time.”

The only pain Michele was aware of was the burning ache she knew he could satisfy. Consumed by the sudden need to touch him, she took the soap and began sliding it over his hairy chest until she worked up a lather, then dropped the bar back onto the ledge. She explored slowly, touching him the way she wanted to, delighting in the feel of him. Her fingers brushed the hard nubs of his nipples, and when he shuddered she felt her own excitement spiral wildly.

“Michele…”

The taut warning had no power to stop her, and even the unexpected sensuality of her own nature was little more than a dim and unimportant shock. His stomach was flat and hard, his hips smooth, his thighs powerful. She could see the effect her touch was having on him, and it was both reassuring and unbelievably thrilling to know that he could no more resist her than she could resist him.

With curiosity as well as need driving her, she felt compelled to learn every part of his body. She had taken him inside her, and yet she hadn’t touched him, not like this, and the urge to go on touching him was overpowering. Barely aware of his harsh breathing, she moved her slippery hands back up his thighs and very gently closed her fingers around him. She felt him jerk slightly and heard the rough groan that rumbled in his chest, and his response only spurred her on. His flesh was hard in her hand, pulsing with living need, and everything inside her seemed to dissolve into a hot liquid pool of desire as she touched him.

“Lord,” Ian muttered hoarsely, pulling her into his arms. The force of his sudden movement put them under the shower spray, and the water streamed over them as he covered her wet mouth hungrily with his. He wanted her so desperately that he didn’t have the will to get them out of the stall; even the few steps necessary were totally beyond him. Touching her had strained his control to the limits; her delicate hands on him were more than he could stand.

Her arms went up around his neck and she pressed her wet body to him, whimpers of intolerable desire tangling in her throat. She was on the raw edge of tension, so ready for him that waiting even a moment was impossible. She felt the cool tile of the wall at her back, and her legs parted as his hands slid down to her bottom.

She felt herself being lifted, felt a blunt pressure against her aching flesh, and then the burning sweetness of his invasion. Her legs locked around him strongly as she drew him even deeper into her softness, and the tension inside her snapped with a violence that made her moan into his mouth. His deep thrusts held her at the searing peak of pleasure, her body shuddering under the assault on her senses.

Ian was hardly aware of the sounds escaping his tight throat or of anything except the shattering sensations. She was writhing against him, her silky flesh so tight and hot around him, the waves of her pleasure caressing him with a sweet agony that pushed him wildly over the brink into a heart-stopping release.

Michele felt so utterly drained that she could only bury her face against his throat as her legs finally slid down his. She could feel his heart thudding against her, and when their bodies slowly disengaged she sighed with a mixture of satisfaction and regret.

“Lord, Michele,” Ian said huskily, tangling his fingers in her wet hair and pulling her head back gently so he could kiss her. His lips brushed hers warmly.

She smiled at him, then said idly, “We’re in the shower.”

“And we could have broken our necks.”

“Maybe we’d better get out, then.”

The reasonable comment struck him as amusing. After the acrobatics of moments ago, he doubted they were in danger by just standing in the stall. But he obediently turned off the water and opened the door.

A few moments later, wrapped in one towel and drying her hair with another, Michele sat on the edge of the bed and gazed down at their clothing scattered on the floor. “I don’t have anything to wear,” she said, “except for a bathing suit and a caftan without any buttons. Did you do that?”

“Don’t you remember?” he asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.

“Well, no. Not that it matters. I can always hold the edges together.”

Ian came to the bed and sat down beside her. “You don’t need anything to wear. Stay with me.”

She finger-combed her damp hair and looked at him uncertainly. “Tonight?”

“And tomorrow night. And as many nights as we can manage.” He kept his voice light.

“All right,” she said simply.

“We have to talk.”

A shadow crossed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk.”

He eased her back onto the bed and kissed her gently. “Baby, we have to. You know we do.”

The faintly swollen curve of her lips was unsteady for a moment, then firmed. In her eyes was anxiety and reluctance and regret. “Yes. I know.”

“We’ll work it out,” he promised, pushing from his mind the certain knowledge that there was no painless solution. “Why don’t you call room service and order some food. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

His smile went a little crooked. “Unless you’re on the pill, I’m going to that shop in the lobby.”

Michele felt herself blushing, which was, she told herself, fiercely ridiculous. “Oh.”

He kissed her again. “I’ve been so wild for you I didn’t even think about protection. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t think about it either,” she reminded him.

His eyes burned down at her, and one hand rested possessively over her stomach. “We may be too late,” he said gruffly.

The possibility of carrying his child sent a surge of warmth spreading through her. But she wasn’t certain of his feelings even now; as wild as their desire for each other was, he’d said nothing about their future. And the odds were so strong against them…

Conjuring a smile, she said ruefully, “Stuart seed taking root in a Logan? Our ancestors would be spinning in their graves.”

“And our fathers foaming at the mouth,” Ian added. “Still, unlikelier things have happened.”

“I know.”

He hesitated, then kissed her lightly. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

After he’d finished dressing and gone, Michele rose and found a shirt in his closet. She put it on and borrowed his comb to untangle her damp hair, then called room service and ordered food to be sent up. She picked their scattered clothing up off the floor. Then, after a slight hesitation, she called down to Jackie’s room. Her friend answered on the first ring.

“Hi, it’s me,” Michele said.

“Hello, stranger,” Jackie replied dryly.

“I just wanted you to know that I—I’m going to be with Ian for a while. Didn’t want you to worry.”

There was a long pause, and then Jackie said, “So. You’re lovers.” Her voice was flat.

“Does that surprise you?”

“No. No, it doesn’t surprise me. Jon called a little while ago. I told him you were fine, and out on the beach. I don’t like lying, Michele.”

“You weren’t lying. I am fine.”

“If you say so.” Jackie’s voice was still flat and polite.

Michele sighed and gave up. “I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

“Sure.”

After hanging up the phone, Michele continued to sit on the bed, gazing at nothing. Jackie’s reaction had been only a sample, a mild sample at that, of what awaited her in Atlanta. She hadn’t wanted to think about that; in Ian’s arms, she’d been able to forget.

But she couldn’t forget for long. She loved Ian—but did she trust him? Even now, even after all they’d shared, she didn’t have that answer. Alone in his room without the sight and touch of him to send every rational thought spinning into oblivion, she felt wary, uncertain, painfully vulnerable. And in the back of her mind were dark stirrings she couldn’t seem to banish. Jackie had been right; Ian could hurt her more dreadfully than any other man.

For herself, she had no choice but to accept that possibility. The greatest shock of her love for Ian wasn’t that he was her family’s enemy, or that she went wild in his arms with a passion she hadn’t known herself capable of. The greatest shock was the complete disappearance of her pride. She’d been raised to be proud, that being the single surviving trait of a Southern heritage; raised by a man whose pride in his name and in his person was immense.

But her love for Ian put such arrogance in perspective. Because she loved, she was achingly vulnerable, and that lowering of all barriers left her with the knowledge that pride didn’t matter. As long as he wanted her, she belonged to him. For the rest of her life, she belonged to him.

For herself, it didn’t matter who he was. But her father and brother would never see it that way. And along with her own natural uncertainties and doubts at accepting a man as her lover, she had to cope with the terrible knowledge that her relationship with Ian could be the spark that would ignite violence between their families.

“Are you decent?”

Startled, she looked up and saw Ian peering at her around the partially opened door. She hadn’t even heard his key in the lock. “Of course I’m decent,” she said, pushing her anxiety back into its dark corner.

He looked at her thoughtfully, then said, “No,” and disappeared. Moments later, he opened the door all the way and pushed a room service cart in ahead of him. “Decent enough for me,” he said calmly, “but not the waiter.”

“I’m wearing clothes.”

“You’re wearing my shirt—and you look sexy as hell in it. Have I told you you’re beautiful?”

“Umm…I don’t remember.”

“I must have been saying it inside my head, then. You are beautiful.” Ian was concentrating on shifting the food from the cart onto the table by his balcony door. “I thought so when you were sixteen.”

“What?” That really did surprise her.

He pushed the emptied cart back out into the hall and then came back and shut the door. He came to the bed and drew her to her feet, enfolding her in his arms. “Now, why does that surprise you so much?”

Michele blinked up into his smiling face. “Well, I was gawky. All bones.”

“All lovely bones. And wild hair and haunting eyes. You’ve been in my head ever since, like a song I couldn’t forget. I used to catch a glimpse of you across some huge, crowded room, a theater lobby, or restaurant, and I’d wonder what would happen if I went up to you, considering the curses you’d spat at me when you were sixteen—”

“I wouldn’t have,” he murmured, realizing that it was true.

Ian kissed her, holding her hard for a moment. Then he guided her to the table and put her in one of the chairs while he took the other. “We better eat to keep up our strength,” he said in a slightly rough voice. He looked at her, his eyes burning.

Reading the heated expression correctly, Michele felt a jolt of desire. Lord, just a look from him and she went weak. She fixed her gaze on her plate, concentrating on eating even though she’d forgotten what she’d ordered.

Ian ate automatically, hardly able to keep his eyes off her. She looked so delicate enveloped in his shirt, the dark cloud of her hair making her appear almost sixteen again. He knew she was troubled, knew that during his absence she had begun to confront what lay ahead of them. And he also knew that if he took her in his arms, she’d forget the problems. For a while.

The desire between them pushed everything else away, leaving only them and what they felt. But with the sharp edge of that blunted, however momentarily, the world and the problems outside crept closer.

In a low voice, without looking up, she said, “Do you think we can stop the feud?”

“I don’t know.” He wished he had a better answer.

She looked up then, gray eyes clouded. “Between our fathers, it’s always stopped short of violence. Have you realized that—our relationship could change that?”

“We won’t let it happen, Michele.”

“How will we stop it? By telling them it’s just us, that they aren’t involved? They won’t see it that way. By telling them we didn’t plan this? That won’t matter. They won’t understand, Ian. They’ll never understand.”

He was silent for a moment, then pushed his plate away and sat back. Reluctantly, he said, “It’ll be worse on you, even assuming we can keep them from striking out at each other. No matter how furious my father is, he won’t disown me. I’m his only son, the last of the line.”

Michele shivered almost unconsciously. “Dad…won’t be that rational. I’d be lucky if he gave me time to pack. Years ago, I heard him say what he’d do if a Stuart ever touched me. I saw the look in his eyes. I’m afraid of what he might do to you and your father.”

“Michele…” He reached across the small table and covered one of her hands with his.

“I don’t even know how to tell him. Or Jon.” Her hand turned under his, holding on as if to a lifeline. “I think I’m more afraid of what Jon will do. He’s always been very protective of me—and he hates you.”

“But he loves you,” Ian said quietly. “So does your father. I can’t believe either of them would hurt you.” Even though part of his mind was telling him she was right, that her family could very well react with a violence that would catch her in its storm, another part of him found it impossible that any man could look into her eyes and say or do anything to hurt her.

Michele pulled her hand away and met his gaze very steadily. “Can’t you? Do you want me to tell you how they’ll look at this, what they’ll say? They’ll say that you set out to make a fool of me, that you cold-bloodedly seduced me with the intention of tearing our family apart. They’ll say you used me as a tool or a weapon to further delay the completion of Dad’s building, that you wanted to—to disrupt our family any and every way you could, put us at each other’s throats—”

“Michele—”

She rose jerkily and stepped away from the table, away from the sudden dark realization in his eyes. She leaned against the open balcony door and stared out on paradise. “That’s what they’ll say,” she whispered.

“And that’s what you think, isn’t it?” Ian rose as well, going to her and turning her around roughly to face him. “My Lord, you still don’t trust me.”

She stared at the pulse beating in his neck, unable to meet his eyes. “I can’t get it out of my head,” she said unsteadily. “The words. All the awful things I’ve heard for twenty years. I try not to—but I keep hearing them. And I know what it’ll do to Dad and Jon, I know. I’m the best weapon you could use to destroy them.”

“Even now?” His voice was tight. “Even now, you think I’m using you?”

Feeling the hot sting of tears, she looked up finally into his hard face. “I don’t want to. Don’t you see, Ian? When you hold me, it doesn’t matter because it’s just us and I know I have to take the chance. I can’t fight what you make me feel.”

“But you can’t trust me not to destroy your family.”

She saw her hands go up, saw them touch his face in some aching effort to soften him. But the touch seemed to go unfelt, his expression remaining hard and his eyes flinty. Despair swept over her as she tried to make him see and understand the pain tearing at her.

“Please…You made me face this. You said we had to talk about it. I’m trying to tell you that no matter how strongly you make me feel, and even though I could never hate you, I still can’t forget what I’ve been taught. And if I can’t forget that, if I can’t trust you with all that I feel, after everything that’s happened between us, then how could my family ever survive this? Ian…what we are will destroy them.”

He pulled her suddenly into his arms, holding her as if something had tried to snatch her away from him. He hadn’t wanted to face the fact that it could never, ever, be just them, that what they felt for each other couldn’t be held separate and apart from the feud between their families. But he had to accept it now. They were each bound by ties of blood and love to opposite sides of a battle that had raged for centuries, and no bond between them, by the simple fact of its existence, could end that war.

His father wouldn’t disown him, but the bitterness and sense of betrayal would always be between them. And her father and brother would never be able to accept him in Michele’s life. Not with the feud raging stronger than ever between the families.

“We’ll find a way to stop it,” he muttered into the dark silk of her hair. His arms tightened around her, and he lifted his head to stare down at her. “Somehow. We won’t let it destroy them—or us.”

Michele let herself be comforted by his certainty, because the alternative was simply too painful. In any case, there was no going back. She pushed all the horrible words back into their darkness, and with their banishment came the sharp awakening of everything else she felt for him. The desire rising in her with such abruptness held more than a little desperation and she knew it, but she didn’t care. These feelings were honest and untainted by dark things; these feelings were all she could really be sure of between them.

“I want you,” she whispered.

His breath caught as she pressed closer, and his eyes flared with instant heat as his head bent to hers. “Michele,” he murmured against her lips. “Michele…”

Late the following morning, Ian swore creatively as he dressed, his feelings obvious. “It isn’t enough that the client has to arrive a day early,” he said irritably, “but then he has the nerve to ask me to meet him on the other end of the island and spend the day walking over the job site.”

“It can’t be helped,” Michele said, lying on her side in bed as she watched him.

“Come with me.”

“Do you really think that would be wise?” she murmured.

Ian looked at her, lying in his bed naked except for the sheet draped over her, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. They had decided to eat dinner downstairs in the restaurant the night before. They’d stopped by her room so that Michele could put on something besides a caftan with no buttons, and then had gone on to the restaurant.

They hadn’t made it to dessert.

Smiling just a little with a smile that was pleased and secret and so intimate it nearly made his heart stop, she said, “Your client probably wouldn’t be thrilled to watch us vanish into the bushes.”

He leaned over the bed, placing a hand on either side of her. “Do you think that would happen?”

“You tell me.”

Ian knew damned well it would; in the last twenty-four hours, touching her had become as necessary as breathing, and since her desire was as strong as his, those touches just couldn’t be casual ones. “You make me feel eighteen and at the mercy of my hormones,” he told her.

“Good.” Smiling, she lifted her face for his kiss.

“Dammit. I hate to leave you,” he murmured against her mouth, thinking that if he ever saw her smile like that at another man, he’d kill the bastard. The primitive impulses and urges he felt around her no longer surprised him, for he’d learned the simple truth about himself: He was a man deeply, possessively, and irrevocably in love.

She sighed regretfully as he straightened, then said, “Just for a few hours. I should spend some time with Jackie anyway. Call home. Things like that.”

“I’ll be back before six. No matter what the client says.”

“All right. I’ll be here or in my room.”

After he’d gone, Michele stretched like a lazy cat and reluctantly got up. She wanted to hold on to the peaceful feeling of well-being as long as possible, and determinedly kept her mind sedate as she dressed in the clothing that had been very hastily abandoned the night before.

The memory brought a smile to her lips as she left his room and slipped downstairs to her own to shower and change, but the smile left her as Jackie’s closed door reminded Michele of things she wanted to forget. After the brief but painful discussion between her and Ian yesterday, neither of them had wanted to return to the subject of their future, and so it had been left hanging.

Michele still didn’t want to think about it. She knew the problems wouldn’t vanish by being ignored, but the wonderful hours with Ian and the delight she had found in his arms was an interlude she wasn’t yet ready to jeopardize in any way.

She was dressed and brushing her drying hair when Jackie suddenly appeared in the connecting doorway.

“Hi. Abandoned so soon?”

Looking at her friend, Michele wished she could say something to ease Jackie’s worry; her studied unconcern and flippant tone didn’t hide her anxiety. “Ian had to meet a client on the other side of the island.”

Jackie came far enough into the room to lean a hip on the low dresser. “Oh. So you’re at loose ends?”

“For a few hours anyway.”

“Then let’s go have our fortunes read.”

Michele wasn’t surprised by the suggestion. Jackie’s interest in fortune-telling was a long-standing one; since her early teens she’d been dragging various of her friends to palmists, tarot card readers, and psychics. She had collected her share of futures, most of them containing the invariable promise of a tall, dark, and handsome man—and the fact that the man she had recently become involved with could easily fit that description had only deepened her faith in destiny.

It wasn’t a belief Michele ever shared. Humoring Jackie, she’d gone along and had her fortune read a number of times. She, too, had been promised a tall dark stranger in her future. One enthusiastic palmist had even told her flatly that her first lover would be a dark man with burning eyes.

Well, Michele thought now with a flash of amusement, she’d gotten it half right.

Mildly, she said, “I’m game. Have you already found a fortune-teller on the island?”

Jackie drew a card from the back pocket of her jeans and looked at it. “This was pushed under my door this morning. There’s some kind of small carnival out by the harbor, just for the day. And a Mrs. Fortune offers tarot readings.”

Wondering idly why there had been no card under her own door or Ian’s, Michele came to the conclusion that Mrs. Fortune no doubt had a limited supply of cards; most of her breed made a marginal living at best. Luckily she had shoved one under the door of a true believer in fortune-telling.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Are you hoping you’ll get a prediction of when Cole will propose?”

“This time,” Jackie said lightly, “I’m not so much interested in my future. It’s yours I’m wondering about.”