Alyssa squinted up at the sun above her. Reigning over the sky, it glared back, so bright that no clouds dared challenge it. Heat pressed down upon her like heavy hands on her shoulders. The ground beneath her feet would burn them as swiftly as hot coals were she to remove her boots and walk upon it in her bare feet. Her clothing clung to her with suffocating determination, saturated with perspiration.

Dragging in a strained breath, she coughed when the wind peppered her with granules of sand. Fatigue pulled at her. Injuries she could not see pained her.

Where was she?

Chaos surrounded her, courted her. Everywhere Alyssa looked, harsh sunlight gleamed on weapons, shields, and armor stained crimson. Bodies moved in a grisly dance as hundreds of men sought to slay each other.

Sound abruptly filled the silence, as though she had been covering her ears and had lowered her hands. The clang of swords striking swords made her wince. Voices called out as men were cut down. Limbs severed. Bodies cleaved in twain. Her heart slammed against her ribs as warriors bumped into her, buffeted her. Her ears rang with screams of agony and fear. Cries for mercy.

A dark figure suddenly rose up before her, robes rippling in the arid breeze, and eclipsed the sun. At the same moment, arms imprisoned her from behind, tightening like a vice and cutting off her air. As she watched in horror, the man in front of her—unidentifiable with the light behind him blinding her—released a great war cry, raised his mighty curved scimitar, and swung it in an arc that would end with her head being separated from her body.

Alyssa screamed and struggled to free herself. Bucking and rearing, kicking and clawing at the arms wrapped around her, she whimpered and fought for air as panic engulfed her.

“Wha… Alyssa?”

She stilled, heart pounding, breath coming in harsh gasps. Her eyes flew open. The thick, sinewy arms that had been clutching her jerked with surprise, then abruptly released her.

The vision vanished. The cries ceased. The fear receded.

Yet, the metallic scent of blood seemed to linger in the air.

Dillon.

She lay in bed with Dillon. Or rather he lay in bed with her. He must have come to bed after she had fallen asleep and…

Well, she had not devoted any thought as to where he had been sleeping during her illness. Or where he would do so tonight. But this was his chamber, his bed. He must have turned to her in his sleep, unaware of his actions, and curled his body around hers. Then his dream had become her own.

“Alyssa? Are you all right?” His voice wavered slightly. Mayhap he still fought the grip of his nightmare.

“Aye,” she responded shakily, rolling onto her back so she could look at him.

“You cried out.”

“’Twas a nightmare.” She could barely isolate him from the night. “Only a nightmare.”

His eyes glinted in the moonlight that weakly wrestled its way through the window and into the room. He lay on his side, his face nigh hers on the pillow. As she watched, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and tucked his hands beneath them as though he could not trust them to do his bidding. “I was likewise troubled by sinister dreams.”

Alyssa’s heart began to slow its frantic pace. Her muscles relaxed, one by one. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she turned onto her side to face him. The move brought him even closer. So close his warmth reached toward her beneath the blankets and banished the chill fright had produced.

“I did not harm you, did I?” he asked tentatively. Mayhap he feared he had squeezed her too tightly in his sleep.

“Nay. You woke me at a most opportune moment, my lord. I should thank you.”

He looked at her strangely, but ’twas too dark to read whatever might have been visible in his eyes.

“Was yours the same specter that visits you nightly?” she queried, remembering with a shudder the carnage that had surrounded her.

He sighed and reached up to rub his eyes. “’Tis not always the same dream, but… aye, ’twas of a similar nature.”

Unbidden, tears threatened. No wonder he slept so poorly. If she knew such dreams awaited her each time she rested, Alyssa would never want to sleep. And, unlike all of the other wounds she had healed for him, she knew not how to remedy this.

“Of what did you dream?” he asked softly.

She could not bring herself to tell him. ’Twould distress him to learn that his dream had invaded hers and terrified her so.

Throat tight, she shook her head. “I do not wish to speak of it.”

His large hand swam out of the shadows and cupped her cheek, testing it for tears. He frowned when he found them. “Shh. ’Tis all right,” he murmured, pulling her toward him. “You need not. ’Twas but a dream, Alyssa. Let it trouble you no more.”

She let him draw her head to his chest, press her body to his. He stroked her back with one hand, her hair with the other.

Long, leisurely brushes.

Slow, soothing circles.

Tranquility suffused her as she slipped her arms around his waist and mirrored his actions. He was so large and muscular, his back wide and strong. When he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and rested his cheek against her hair, she smiled and nuzzled his chest, the coarse hair there tickling her nose.

Alyssa knew not what spell had befallen her. Never had she felt this sense of peace, this sense of freedom. Not a breath of air separated them. Her full breasts pressed against his chest and rippling abdomen. Her hips rested against his. Their legs were loosely entwined.

’Twas, for all intents and purposes, a lovers’ embrace. Yet, she felt no shame, no embarrassment. Only a rising tide of heat as her pulse quickened once more, this time with something other than fear. The muscles beneath her hands gradually went taut, his tension finding its way into her. She felt the one part of him she had always modestly avoided viewing (but had glimpsed the morn he had leapt out of bed naked) lengthen against her stomach in the most shocking way. Breathing became difficult. The large hand at her back now incited instead of soothed. But incited what? Such feelings were foreign to her, alternately exciting and frightening.

He shifted, one muscular thigh slipping between hers. His thoughts fought their way past whatever haze afflicted her.

Absently acting on them, she moved her right leg up a little higher. He moaned, a low rumble just short of a growl, and she was surprised by the pleasure she felt course through him. Sliding his hand across her hip, over her bottom, and down her thigh—leaving tingling fire in his wake—he hooked his fingers beneath her knee and drew it up until it rested over his hip.

She had not realized until then that he was bare.

Her calf met naught but heated flesh that flexed as he leaned into her, practically rolling her onto her back and generating an even greater heat within her. The only thing separating that most intimate part of her from the most intimate part of him was the thin linen shirt she wore, which had ridden up almost to her bottom.

He must have heard her gasp, for he stilled of a sudden, his hand motionless on her thigh. His fingers paused in the process of slipping beneath her shirt to caress smooth, bare skin. “Alyssa?”

Insecurity, desire, astonishment, guilt, need. She could not differentiate her emotions from his. Not whilst her body hummed and begged her to ignore her obligations, to be selfish and give in to the wondrous feelings Dillon nurtured within her.

Oh, how she wanted to lean into him, rub her body against his, and fan the flames higher.

“Alyssa…”

He intended to apologize. She could feel it, rising within him alongside embarrassment over what he considered his clumsiness with women. She frowned over that because she had never once seen evidence of such and had herself just experienced the opposite. Yet Dillon feared she would turn from him and think him crude for giving in to his base desires and touching her. Even now his body ached with need and she could feel how he fought the urge to move against her, carefully holding himself in check.

When he drew in a breath and opened his mouth, she slipped a hand up to cover it.

He hesitated, then pressed a kiss to her fingertips.

She closed her eyes, the knowledge that she could never have him for her own weighing her down. “Good night, Dillon,” she whispered, disappointing him… and herself.

“Good night.”

She felt him tense when she slid her leg down his. Her body protesting every move, she rolled away from him onto her other side. Cool air rushed in between them, contrasting sadly with the heady flush he had left on her skin.

Alyssa listened carefully, expecting him to turn away from her.

He did not. He remained exactly as she had left him, utterly still.

Was he as full of regrets as she?

Minutes passed.

Neither found solace in sleep.

“Dillon?” Silently, she cursed herself for her weakness.

“Aye?”

“I am cold.”

A moment’s hesitation followed. Then she heard the bedding rustle and felt his big warm body mold itself to her back. The tops of his thighs met the backs of hers. One of his thick arms came around her waist, holding her close, his hand just beneath her breast. The other slipped under her head to form a pillow.

Emitting a sigh of contentment, he burrowed his face into her hair and awaited her response.

Surely she could allow herself this much. “Thank you, Dillon.”

Was that a kiss pressed lightly to her shoulder?

“Good night, Alyssa.”

Dillon dragged his fingers through sweat-dampened hair and detained a passing servant long enough to request a drink.

“You seem to be in fine form again, brother,” Robert said beside him. “I thought ’twould take you longer to regain your strength.”

“Why?” Dillon surveyed the hall around them to ensure no one else listened. “My wounds were healed days ago. Had I not been otherwise occupied, I would have long since joined Simon in the battle for Pinehurst.”

Giving him a wry smile, Robert shook his head. “You did not see the frightening amount of blood that spilled from your body. I did not know a man could lose so much and yet live.”

Dillon recalled his and Ann Marie’s fruitless attempts to stop the unceasing crimson rivulets that had escaped Alyssa’s wounds. Wounds he had put there.

His lips tightened. His teeth ground together.

“No good will come of such thoughts.”

He glanced at Robert with surprised censure. “Presume you to know my thoughts?”

Both men took the tankards a serving woman offered them, then waited until she was out of earshot.

“You blame yourself for the pain she suffered healing your injuries.”

Dillon tossed his head back and drank deeply. The scars his wounds had left on her body may no longer be visible, but they had been indelibly carved into his memory. As had the more recent wounds that had nigh stolen her from him. “I blame myself with good reason. ’Twas my fault.”

“You did not knowingly step into the path of those quarrels. Nor did you encourage her to heal you, knowing it might harm her in some way. If with anyone, the fault lies with me.”

“Nay. We have already dismissed that.” Dillon took a step or two away and stood watching the servants put the hall in order. Alyssa had always ensured that his home was clean and freshly scented, that colorful tapestries adorned the stone walls. ’Twas another of her tasks he had taken for granted. “In all of the years I have known her, I have never questioned her method of healing, never asked her the consequences.”

“One often does not question what one has seen and been told since birth. Our father never asked after the health of his healer. She never exhibited any weakness. Since you thought them one and the same, ’twas natural for you to assume your own came to no harm when she exercised her gift.”

“Ignorance is no excuse. It does not erase the pain she felt each time my wounds ripped open her flesh.”

“Dillon…” Robert stopped, then nodded to the entrance, where a man stood, searching the room’s few occupants. “Look you there. ’Tis no doubt a message from Simon.”

Spotting his lord, the man hurried to Dillon’s side and held out a missive. “My lord. A missive from Sir Simon.”

Taking the roll of parchment, Dillon waved the man toward the kitchen. “Seek yourself refreshment.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Dillon heard fading footsteps as he scanned Simon’s careless scrawl.

“What news?” Robert asked.

“They are tunneling under the walls and await my orders ere they break through and take the castle. Camden suspects naught because he expects them to use the trebuchets instead.”

“A clever ploy, assembling the trebuchets within his sight to fool him into thinking he will know how and when the attack will come. I sent word to Simon of your injuries and of the failed ambush the day after you fell so he would not wonder at your delay.”

“And he has apprised Camden of my good health.” Dillon’s lips twitched. “And called him a cowardly cur for not trying to kill me himself whilst he did so.”

His brother laughed. “Would that I could have seen Camden’s face. No doubt he soiled his armor when he heard you survived and will soon seek justice.”

Dillon grunted, staring down at the parchment. Unexpected resentment bubbled up inside him. Yet another battle that would tear him from his home. Only this time the parting would be far more difficult.

He did not wish to leave Alyssa. He wanted to remain by her side, coaxing more fetching smiles from her lips, building upon the feelings that had caught them both unawares the previous night.

“I will go in your stead, should you desire me to do so,” Robert offered softly.

Looking up, Dillon read understanding in the blue eyes that so closely resembled his own. “Nay. Inconvenient though it may be, ’tis my responsibility as the new liege lord of Pinehurst to take it myself. I must ensure the people will be loyal to me and demand their oaths of homage.”

Robert nodded. “Then I shall remain here and watch over the wisewoman for you. No harm shall come to her in your absence, brother. I shall guard her with my life.”

Dillon eyed him uneasily. For a man who shunned boredom and often clamored for battle, he was awfully eager to sit this one out. “You are not becoming overly fond of her, are you?”

“Of course not,” Robert snapped. “Have you forgotten my vow to be her servant until she is recovered?”

“Nay, but—”

“She saved your life, Dillon. Think you I would repay her in such a way? By making her my next conquest?”

Dillon scowled, feeling like a fool. ’Twas time he conquered this jealousy once and for all before its talons became too deeply embedded to be extracted.

Grimacing, Robert admitted, “Besides, it may not seem so, but I have not lost all of my uneasiness around her yet. Her comely face can sometimes make me forget whilst in her presence. But her powers… what I witnessed and experienced when she healed you…” He shook his head. “I try not to think about it.”

“My lord?”

He turned to see his steward approaching.

William had seen three-score years and had served the family honestly and competently for decades. Of average height, thin as a whip, with long white tufts of hair that formed a horseshoe around his bald crown, he was a sober man who had always seemed more at ease around Dillon and the sorceress than most.

“Aye, William?”

“Your bath will grow cold do you not take advantage of it soon.”

“My bath?”

“Aye, my lord. The wisewoman saw to its preparation some time ago.”

“Thank you, William. I had forgotten.”

When the steward left, Dillon turned and found Robert regarding him with one raised eyebrow. “What?”

“You have not allowed her to resume her duties, have you?”

“Nay. I am sure ’twas Ann Marie’s doing. The wisewoman is resting. She did not sleep well last night.” He fell silent as a new worry pricked him.

He had not seen Alyssa since he had awoken with her in his arms nigh dawn. The fragrant tangles of her hair had been his blanket, as had the warm curves of her body. He had lain there, sprawled on his back, he knew not how long, savoring the wondrous feel of her arm resting upon his chest. Her hand curled around his neck in a loose embrace. Her breasts pressed against his side. Her peaceful face pillowed by his shoulder. Her thigh draped across his groin. Her tiny foot tucked between his calves.

He had not wanted to move, had wanted to linger, awaken her with kisses and teasing caresses. Yet, fearing her reaction, he had instead carefully extricated himself from her enticing clasp and slipped silently from the bed, then from the chamber.

Were he honest with himself, he would admit that he was a little anxious about speaking with her. For the first time in years, he was reluctant to approach her. Guilt gnawed at him, enhanced by ever-present desire.

Last night Alyssa had been vulnerable, plagued by the remnants of whatever illness the healing had spawned within her. She had been struggling to adjust to the fact that he and Robert now knew her secret. And what had he done to aid her? He had flirted shamelessly with her, acted like a jealous lover whenever Robert paid her a visit, frightened her into waking from what appeared to have been a ghastly nightmare, then attempted to make love to her ere she could regain her equilibrium, fully cognizant of her innocence.

And he had longed to do so again this morn.

“What is amiss?” Robert asked, interrupting Dillon’s self-recriminations. “You look as though you just quaffed two goblets of that wine that went sour last spring.”

How could he answer? I am disgusted with myself for sinking so low as to attempt to seduce the woman I respect and admire above all others when she was at her most vulnerable?

Robert had appointed himself her protector. He was the last person Dillon could confide in, or confess to, whichever the case may be.

“’Tis naught. I was merely considering the arrangements that must be made ere I depart.”

“When do you leave?”

“On the morrow.”

Robert nodded and clapped him on the back. “I shall see to it for you. Go and have your bath. You will no doubt be sore after the paces I put you through this morn.”

Dillon cuffed his brother playfully. “’Tis too soon to gloat, Cub. You’ve yet to best me, even as weak and frail as I am after my injuries.”

Robert had a few choice words to say about that. Dillon imagined Alyssa’s cheeks would have turned quite pink if she had heard them. The fact that he could now view and treasure those lovely blushes brought a smile to his face as he climbed the stairs and approached the solar.

Very quietly, he opened the door, slipped inside, then closed it, hoping his bath would not disturb Alyssa if she rested. Or offend her modesty if she did not. Swiveling to face the room, he froze. His smile slowly slipped away as everything within him went still. Then his heart began to pound a hard, heavy beat. His stomach did a funny little turn. And all of the self-castigating thoughts that had beleaguered him below threw up their hands in defeat and fled.

Alyssa was indeed asleep… in the bath he had mistakenly believed was meant for him. Her head rested against the back rim of the tub, tilted the slightest bit toward the hearth in which a fire had been built to ensure she did not catch a chill. The flickering flames cast golden highlights across her dewy skin.

Desire carried Dillon’s feet forward.

Sitting behind her on the floor, brushing Alyssa’s hair and fanning it out to speed its drying, Ann Marie gasped when she noticed him. “My lord! I did not hear you enter. When I came in to see if I could aid the healer in some way, she requested a bath and I—”

“Leave us,” he instructed, never taking his gaze from Alyssa.

He knew not what Ann Marie saw in his face, but it sent her fleeing across the room to retrieve a bundle from the bed, then out the door without donning Alyssa’s dark robe.

Dillon stood beside the tub for many long moments, simply drinking in the sight of her.

Alyssa’s hair had begun to dry and spilled down to the floor in rivulets of midnight satin that would soon draw up into waves and curls. The hollows that had formed under her eyes lay hidden beneath the thick lashes that brushed them. The full lips he had neglected to kiss whilst his hands had made their sojourn over her body the previous night parted just enough for him to glimpse the edges of her teeth. Soft lips. Pink and pouty. His mouth went dry as he pondered how they would taste, how easily they would mold to his own.

The slender arms she had wrapped around him last night now balanced on the rim of the tub. The graceful hands that had stroked his back dangled limply over the side. Her tempting breasts drew his gaze next, their hard pinks tips hovering just above the water’s edge. The waist beneath was so small he was sure he could span it with his hands. Full hips bracketed the thatch of dark curls he had pressed his arousal against in his moment of weakness, then yielded to shapely legs he thought surprisingly long considering her diminutive height. Legs he wanted her to wrap around him in passion.

Staring at her, Dillon thought her more beautiful than any other woman he had ever laid eyes upon. The longer he stood there, the harder his body became, the shorter his breath grew, and the fewer scruples remained to battle his erotic impulses.

Leaning down, he drew fingers that shook across her shining temple and back to circle her ear. His palm cradled her cheek as her eyelids fluttered, then lifted.

“Dillon,” she murmured, a sleepy welcome that touched him deeply. Smiling, she raised one hand to stroke his cheek. He heard the rasp of his beard stubble as she stroked him again, further heating his blood.

Her smile faltered. A tiny crease formed between her eyebrows as she tilted her head the other way. Again she stroked him. Her eyes widened. “Dillon!”

Jerking her hand back, she bolted upright, splashing water over the edge of the tub and saturating his feet, his legs, and the floor around him. He just managed to keep their heads from colliding.

As Alyssa glanced down at herself then around the room in unmistakable dismay, Dillon realized he had made another colossal blunder. The woman had spent seven years completely hidden beneath black robes. Naturally she would not be pleased to wake up and find a gawking male salivating over her naked body.

What should he do? How could he repair the situation?

Dillon started to straighten, already searching in vain both for a suitable apology and for a towel or robe to hand her.

Alyssa made a sound of protest, grabbed his tunic with both fists, and yanked him to her.

Caught off guard, he felt his balance waver and grabbed for the tub’s rim.

He missed.

His arms plunged into water. One foot went up. The other skidded in the puddle she had just produced. And the next thing he knew he was in the tub under water with his face smashed between her breasts.

A great deal of squirming and splashing took place next on both their parts. In the end, Dillon wound up in a position that made his head spin. His hands were braced on the bottom of the tub behind and to either side of her. His lower body was settled oh-so-wonderfully between her thighs, balanced on his knees with his feet in the air and his shins wedged against the foot of the tub.

Heat surged to his groin, which was flush against her center. What lust he had felt before trebled as he met her astonished gaze.

The chamber door abruptly opened.

“Dillon, how large a contingent did you—?” The words ended in a gasp.

Alyssa shrieked and threw her arms around Dillon’s neck to keep him from rearing back and exposing her. He bit back a groan when her legs encircled him as well to lock him into position as her shield.

Gritting his teeth, he glared over his shoulder at his brother, impaling him with visual daggers.

Robert stared at them with wide eyes and gaping mouth.

“Well?” Dillon growled.

Face reddening, Robert snapped out of his shock and straightened. “I, uh… uh…” Blinking, he looked around the room with exaggerated surprise and blurted, “Why, this is not my chamber!” Spinning around, he exited and slammed the door behind him.

Nonplussed, Dillon looked down at Alyssa.

Now that their unwelcome audience had left them, she relaxed her hold and leaned back so she could meet his gaze.

His lips twitched.

Hers followed suit.

Both burst into merry laughter.

“Not his chamber?” Dillon choked.

“Mayhap Robert has had one too many shocks of late.”

“I believe you are right.”

Their laughter quieted. Awareness returned.

Silence descended upon them as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Why did you do that?” Dillon whispered finally, wondering how long it would take her to realize that her legs were still wound around him.

“Do what?” she responded, her voice equally hushed.

Supporting himself on one hand, Dillon raised the other and waggled his fingers to draw her attention to the water that dripped from them. “Invite me into your bath.” He gave her a teasing grin to stave off the nervousness he could see creeping in.

“I did not wish you to look upon me,” she admitted.

His eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter. “And you thought pulling me down atop you would prevent that?”

Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes, contradicting the smile she forced and erasing his own. “You were the only covering available to me.”

Dillon stroked her cheek, sensing that more than simple modesty troubled her. “Why did you not want me to look upon you?”

She shook her head mutely.

“Is it your promise to the other wisewoman? Your vow not to voluntarily show yourself to others?”

“Nay.” A sparkling teardrop overflowed her lashes and bathed his thumb.

“What then?”

“I did not wish to disgust you.”

’Twas not at all what he had expected. “Disgust me?” he repeated, disbelieving.

“I am scarred.” Her brow furrowed. “Or I was. When I woke to find you standing over me, I forgot the scars had healed and…” She swallowed hard. “I did not want you to see them.”

“Alyssa, those scars were mine. You acquired them healing me.” When she parted her lips to speak, he touched a finger to them. “If those scars had remained where they belonged—on my body—would they have disgusted you?”

“Nay, but you are a warrior.”

“As are you. You have ridden into battle by my side more than once. And…” He shook his head. “Do you not know how beautiful you are to me? So lovely your image lingers always in my mind when we are apart, distracting me from whatever task I am attempting to perform and leaving me utterly useless to those around me. ’Twould be no different were you still scarred.”

Another tear fell. “You must not say such things when they are not true.”

“But they are true,” he insisted. “You are touching me.” He brought one of her hands to his cheek and held it there. “Can you not see the truth in my words? Can you not feel it?”

She stared at him, unspeaking.

“Alyssa?”

“I cannot think clearly when you touch me,” she whispered.

His heart skipped a beat. He could feel hers pounding wildly against his chest. “You must forgive me.”

“For what?”

His head dipped. “For this.”

Dillon’s lips brushed hers in a first tentative kiss that was wild in its restraint. Devastating in its tenderness.

Alyssa suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her pulse raced. Her skin tingled. Every muscle tightened. And the things she heard… the things she saw…

Dillon’s jumbled, passion-driven thoughts. The erotic images they spawned.

Her whole body heated and began to ache with the same need that consumed him.

He drew back slightly, his blue eyes dark, breath short. He bore such a look on his face, one that reflected all of the hungry chaos that devoured him inside. Awe coupled with need softened by affection she would not allow herself to believe might be love. A look that told her no other woman could stir him this way. No one else could make him forget himself so completely.

She whispered his name. “Dillon.”

His eyes closed as something like rapture blanketed his features. “I love it when you say my name.”

He was so beautiful. Her gaze fell to the lips that had only seconds earlier claimed her own. Warm and full and inviting. She knew she had to taste them again.

“Dillon.”

His eyes opened, met hers, read the desire there, and blazed with heat. Through her gifts, Alyssa felt his control fray, then snap. Scalding hunger that obliterated all reason flooded her, as though a dam had burst. Groaning, he leaned into her and lowered his lips to devour hers. When she parted them on a gasp, his tongue delved within to engage hers in a seductive dance.

One muscular arm clamped around her waist and pulled her to him. Driven by need—both her own and his—she slipped her arms up around his neck once more, hugging him close, flattening her aching breasts against his chest. She tightened the legs she had wrapped about his waist, locking them at the ankles, forcing him ever closer in an attempt to assuage the heat building at her core.

Dillon growled his approval and left the haven of her lips to trail a scorching path down her neck. Abandoning the support of the base of the tub, he grasped the back of her head with his other hand and surged upward. Moving their entwined bodies forward, he lowered his legs into the water, sat back on his heels, and settled Alyssa astride his thighs with her womanhood flush against his arousal.

Never had she experienced such intense need, such desperate longing. Virginal fear crumpled before it as Dillon’s mind and heart guided her hands. Clumsy, shaking, she divested him of his sodden tunic and threw it aside. The linen shirt he wore beneath met a similar fate. Heated flesh met hers as he pressed her against his naked chest, hard and yielding at the same time.

“Alyssa,” he groaned, one hand going to her hips and urging her to rock against him. “Can you see it now?” he asked between heated kisses that followed the line of her neck to her shoulder. He glanced it with his teeth, then continued on to her collarbone and lower still. “Can you feel it now? How beautiful you are to me? How desirable? How all-consuming and impossible for me to resist? Your skin.” He laved the skin between her breasts with his tongue. Like that of a pearl. Glowing. Opalescent. How did you hide it from me? I should have seen it shining forth from beneath your black robes like the moon defying the cover of clouds.

“Your breasts.” He claimed one pebbled peak with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. The other he fitted to his rough palm, setting off a roaring fire she knew only he could extinguish. They were made for my hands. Only mine. So soft and round and perfect.

“Your waist.” I can more than span it with my hands. Such delicacy compared to my strength and bulk makes my head spin.

“Your hips.” The hand at her breast slipped around to splay across her back, always roaming, as if he could not get enough of touching her. The other remained at her hip, sliding around to her bottom as he ground himself against her. I tremble with the need to be inside you. To feel you all around me, warm and welcoming, as frantic for me as I am for you.

“Your legs.” In a thousand years I would never have dreamed they would be where they are now, locked around me, urging me against you.

“And your face.” Bestowing one last kiss upon each breast, he leaned back a few inches and stared, almost mesmerized, into her eyes. “Your lovely face.” He removed his hand from her back and drew fingers that quaked over her forehead to brush back her thick locks, wet once more from their splashing. I lack the words necessary to describe its beauty and know only that in hiding it from me, you were robbing me of my greatest treasure.

Moisture blurred Alyssa’s vision. Tunneling her hands through his hair, she pulled him to her and kissed him with all of the love and desire and yearning he inspired. If only he knew how deeply his words, his thoughts, his touch affected her, he would have no reason to envy Robert his way with women.

The kiss broke. Dillon’s heart thundered in his chest where it pressed to hers. His eyes sparkled with need, with hope. “Alyssa.”

She heard what he dared not speak aloud: Let me make love to you. Let me make you mine. “Aye,” she whispered, shocking them both.

He seemed to stop breathing. “I have not asked…”

She stroked his cheek. “You need not, Dillon.”

Air left his lungs in a rush. Burying his face in her neck, he squeezed her against him. I do not deserve this.

Clenching her eyes shut, she pressed a kiss above his ear. “You deserve better.”

He froze for a moment, then relaxed and kissed her throat. “There are none better.” Anchoring one arm around her back and one under her hips, he whispered, “Hold tightly to me.”

Nodding, she curled her arms around his neck and held on as he rose to his feet, graceful despite being encumbered by her weight. The delicious friction of their bodies rubbing against each other kept her warm as he stepped out of the tub with care and onto the driest section of floor available. A few strides later, he lowered her to the bed.

She smiled when he retrieved a towel and took the time to squeeze the excess water from her hair before he drew the cloth gently down over her body. First the front. Then the back.

“I do not wish you to catch a chill,” he explained.

“With you as my blanket, I shall not,” she murmured, wondering at her own brazenness. She grinned when his hands flew into action, shucking his boots and his soggy hose and braies in seconds.

Once naked, he stood beside the bed for a moment to let her drink her fill of him. Blushing furiously, she let her gaze dip below his waist… and swallowed. She had seen the uncovered loins of a few men in her years as a healer. But those had all been aged, infirm men who were far from being aroused.

“You are very large, Dillon.”

He smiled and lay down beside her, cradling her close as he had after their shared nightmare. “Are you frightened?” He pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Again, any maidenly fear she might have felt was eclipsed by their combined hunger. “Only a little.”

Dillon cupped her face in one palm and forced her to look up at him. “Should you wish me to stop at any time, you need only speak the words and I shall do so without complaint. I wish to do naught that does not bring you pleasure, Alyssa,” he told her, face and voice earnest.

As love for him swelled within her, she turned her head slightly and kissed his palm. “Judging by the minutes we just passed together in yon tub, you know very well what brings me pleasure.”

A faint smile lit his features as he surrendered at last. Claiming her lips with his own, he rolled her to her back and began a fervent exploration of her body with his hands and mouth. Her lips, her breasts, her navel, and lower.

She writhed helplessly, tangled in the web of desire he wove as Dillon made several of the scandalous fantasies she had seen in his thoughts become reality. Though he touched her and kissed her in ways and places that shocked her, Alyssa uttered not a word of complaint, moaning his name instead and arching into him. And, when he settled himself between her thighs and she felt his body begging entrance, she felt no fear.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he groaned, his muscles trembling with restraint.

She kissed his earlobe. “Then do not stop.”

There was pain despite the care he took in breaching her maidenhead, but ’twas soon forgotten, buried beneath the wonder she felt at their bodies being joined so intimately.

After giving her a moment to adjust to his intrusion, Dillon began to move, thrusting and withdrawing, his muscles bunching. Sparks of desire struck her with increasing intensity. She arched up against him, needing more, needing to be closer and closer still. He slid a hand to her hip, guiding her, teaching her the motions, feeding the fire that consumed her and urging her toward something she did not recognize.

He recognized it. He wanted it. Craved it. She could feel it. But he would deny himself until she found it.

His movements quickened, as did her breath.

“Dillon,” she moaned, holding him tighter, reaching for it, straining for it…

His hand left her hip, and she felt his fingers slide over to the dark curls that shielded her core. Lightning danced through her as he stroked and teased with the same rhythm of his body moving inside her.

Ecstasy swept through her in wave after wave, tightening her muscles and drawing his name from her lips a final time.

Groaning, he stiffened above her, his head flung back, and the pleasure began anew as his ecstasy became hers.

He collapsed upon her, the bulk of his weight balanced on his forearms.

Panting, replete, they held each other as their breathing slowed. Their pulses grew more even. Their muscles relaxed. Still joined, Dillon rolled them to their sides and—hooking a hand behind her knee—drew her leg up to rest atop his hip as he had the previous night.

Content, Alyssa snuggled her head to his chest and let her lashes drift shut.

Tranquility embraced them.

Far more attuned to his thoughts and emotions, she could feel that—for the first time in years—Dillon was at peace. He was happy.

But she knew ’twould not last.

“You leave for Pinehurst on the morrow,” she whispered.

He sighed. “Aye.”

“You will not allow me to accompany you.”

“I cannot.” He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. “Please do not argue with me, Alyssa.”

She would have argued had she not been privy to his thoughts. Her own safety was not all that would be at risk if she followed him. Dillon, too, would be in danger, his mind on her instead of his enemy. Such was the power of their attraction, their newfound passion.

“I fear for you,” she admitted. The last time he had left her behind she had nigh lost him.

“Do not. All will be well.”

But the fear would not leave her. Seeking comfort, she wrapped an arm around him and pulled herself closer to him. He stiffened, and she felt him move inside her.

All fear fled, replaced by the first tinglings of returning desire.

Curious, she flexed the muscles in the leg draped over him, pressing her hips flush against his, pulling him in deeper. Her pulse leapt as hunger streaked through her. She heard Dillon hiss in a short breath, felt his fingers clench in her hair.

“Alyssa,” he uttered gruffly. Though clearly ready to make love again, he was determined to restrain himself. For her sake, she discerned.

“Aye?” she asked, all innocence, and drew back a bit. He sighed with relief… until she pulled him to her again.

Groaning, he dropped a hand to her hip to still her enticing movements. “You must not. ’Tis too soon.”

“Is it?”

“Aye.”

“Oh.” Ignoring him, she continued to move her hips, remembering the rhythm he had taught her. Forward and backward. Together, apart. Appetite rising. “Are you quite certain?” she persisted, quelling the urge to let her hands explore him.

“Aye,” he groaned. He did not even realize that his hand at her hip had slid around to cup her bottom and now urged her on. “Mmm. Aye.”

She bit back a grin. “Well, you do know more about this sort of thing than I do.”

“More,” he muttered. “Much more.”

Breath quickening, she managed to say, “Then I bow to your greater knowledge. If you need more time to recover, I shall simply have to restrain myself.”

“Aye.” He stilled. Leaning back, he stared down at her through glazed, suspicious eyes. “What?”

She tried, but could not keep her lips from twitching.

He barked out a laugh and hugged her. “Precious imp. See what you have done to me? My lips say one thing whilst my body shouts another.”

“’Tis not me,” she insisted with a grin.

“Not you, eh? Just your luscious, utterly distracting form!” His hands found her ribs and tickled giggles from her as he rolled her about the bed.

When at last she was able to catch her breath again, he lay atop her.

His face lit with a warm smile as he combed her damp, tangled hair back from her face with gentle fingers. “How you tempt me.”

The truth of his statement was very evident in the body pressed to hers.

“The reverse is also true.”

“I fear ’twill hurt you.” Surely she is sore.

“Listen to your healer,” she advised him with a wink. “There is no reason for you to halt your amorous pursuits.”

“Well then.” He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I would never presume to ignore the advice of such a wise wisewoman.”

Alyssa welcomed his kiss as his hands slipped down to her breasts. In all of the times she had allowed herself to consider the act of lovemaking, she had never dreamed that it could be accompanied by the laughter and teasing in which they continued to engage. Softer, slower, their second joining may have lacked the desperate urgency of the first, but ’twas no less intimate or moving.

Afterward, both exhausted, they slept.

Curled together.

Complete.