for a moment the way she had looked upon the rock, as naked as Eve, as

tempting as original sin.

"Tess, don't you see? I'm trying to let you go!" She paused, and it

seemed that she waited upon her toes, as if she would go or stay

according to the way the breeze came.

There was a curiously soft smile on her face, almost wistful, a look he

had seldom seen.

"What if I don't want to be let go?" she asked him very quietly, with a

breathless, melodic whisper. He wasn't sure he had really heard the

words.

Real or not, they ignited embers within him. He came to his feet and

looked at her across the small, shadowed distance that separated them.

He could almost reach out and touch her. If he did, he would be lost. If

he put his hands upon her now, he would never let her go.

"You have to make up your mind." He almost growled the words.

"No strings, no promises, no guarantees. You should run. You should run

from me just as fast as one of those thoroughbreds of yours."

"Why?"

She didn't move; she hadn't taken a step. There was a note of amusement

and challenge in her voice. Her chin was raised high; her eyes were

brilliant, nearly coal-black in the shadows. He forced himself to walk

around her, but that was a mistake. The moon was filtering through the

windows, and the light played havoc with the flannel gown she wore.

Light touched fabric, molded it, saw through it. He felt again the

softness of the woman he had held, and his hands itched to touch her

again. A hunger took root inside him, one that made him long to caress

and taste and know.

"Why?" He repeated her question.

The reasons were swiftly leaving his mind. If she was willing, he was

more than anxious to drown in the sweet depths of her fascinating

waters. He clenched his fingers and kept moving casually.

"Because we're in a barn, because I've the distinct feeling you don't

know what you're doing, because you're young and because you're probably

the type of woman who ought to fall in love, deeply in love, with the

right man, and have a band of gold, and all the rest. Because I'm the

hardened refuse of an ill-fated war, and though I don't mind a fight, I

wouldn't be looking for more than a lover."

She smiled.

"Lieutenant, what makes you think I'd be looking for anything more than

a lover?"

He almost groaned aloud. If she didn't leave soon. "Tess, I don't think

you know" -- "I'm twenty-four, Lieutenant. And just as much the refuse

of an ill-fated war as you are. That war taught me a great deal. You

can't always wait to seize what you want. Life is too short, too quickly

severed."

She was smiling still, and there was something poignant about her words

that caught hold of his heart. He had never seen her more beautiful,

more feminine, more arresting. Her eyes were wide; her smile was gentle;

her still form was compelling in the flannel that was draped over her

shoulders, nearly falling from them, that conformed to the rise of her

breasts, then fell to the floor. Her hair was a river of dating, honeyed

light that caressed and embraced her, waving around her shoulders and

falling almost to her waist. Her eyes. When he came close, he saw that

they were not coal-black at all, but so deeply colored in the near

darkness that they appeared to be a rich and hypnotic purple.

He held still. He watched her and tried to find the fight words, the

words that would get her to leave. She would hate him for humiliating

and rejecting her, but maybe that would be better than what he wanted.

To own her, to have all of her, to teach her everything she wanted to

know so thoroughly that she would forget everything but the feel of him

beside her.

"Come here then," he said hoarsely.

She still seemed to pause. Like a sprite, like a night witch or angel,

he knew not which. A rueful curve came to her lips, and she said softly,

"Jamie?"

"What?"

"Where did you take your bath?"

He smiled, too.

"At the livery stables. Not at the saloon."

"Thank you," she murmured, then she took a step toward him, and another

step, and she was in his arms.

His mouth closed upon hers, and he let his hands wander where they

would. He had tried to do the decent thing. And it hadn't worked. So

now. She was fragrant, like a drug. He breathed in the scent of her hair

and the scent of her flesh. He kissed her lips and her earlobe, and he

pressed his tongue against the surge of her pulse at her throat, and he

took her lips again, savoring the caress of her tongue, feeling the rise

of heat and need and the rampant beat in his loins as the thrusts of

their tongues became ever more erotic and telling. He stroked her body

through the flannel, caressing her breast, finding the peak and

massaging it to a hard pebble with his thumb and fingers. Then he cried

out and lowered his mouth upon her, his teeth grazing the fullness of

her breast and the hard peak through the fabric, the dampness of his

mouth pervading it and bringing whispers and whimpers to her lips.

She braced herself upon his shoulders, and cried out, falling against

him.

Trembling, he lifted her and set her on the cocoon of sheet and quilt in

the hay. Then he stood over her, watching her. He ripped away the

kerchief at his throat and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He

watched her all the while, but her eyes did not close. He threw his

shirt upon the hay, and pulled off his boots and socks, unbuckled his

gun belt and then his pants belt and finally peeled away the last of his

clothing. Her eyes closed at last, but not before her cheeks had taken

on a dusky hue.

"You can still run," he told her harshly.

She shook her head. Her hair lay spread across the quilt and sheet and

dangled into the hay around them. He knelt before 'her and set his hand

upon the hem of her gown, pushing it up.

She had beautiful feet. Small, the toenails neatly manicured. Her ankles

were trim. Her calves were shapely.

He paused to press kisses against her kneecaps, then he continued,

thrusting the gown up to her hips where he paused because his breath had

caught. The entire length of her legs was fine and beautiful, and her

hips were seducflared. Her waist was very narrow, and she was endowed

with the same touch of honey hair to add even greater purity and

innocence to her beauty.

That very touch of purity seemed to be driving him insane. A ragged

pulse beat at his groin, and in his mind, and raged throughout his fin-

gem and his limbs and all of his body. He buried his face Ilgainst her

belly, and a harsh sound escaped him, a cry of ~onging, of need, of

desperate desire.

Some soft sound esi~aped her, and she gasped when his lips moved upon

her fi~h, when he turned his head against her, his hair teasing the

flesh of her abdomen, then his kiss and lips caressing it As he kissed

her he continued to push the gown up. The flannel raked over her

breasts, over her hardened nipples.

He rose and knelt over her again, taking each breast fully into his

mouth.

She was alabaster, as perfect as marble with the dusky, rose-tipped

peaks, so hard, so compelling, drawing his body into a tighter, harder

knot all the while, exciting him to an ungodly high with the mere

whisper of her breath, the tiny gasps that escaped her, the sultry,

sensual way her body moved against him. Such little movements, as if she

was afraid, as if she discovered the haunting rhythms of making love.

He paused, meeting her eyes. Half-closed eyes--dazed, damp, luminous and

honest--meeting his. Her gaze fell upon his naked and aroused body, and

her eyes widened again. They met his again, and the beautiful flush of

rose came to her cheeks. He reached for her gown and pulled it over her

shoulders, and they knelt facing each other. She threw her arms shyly

around him, but that served to press them together, all their nakedness,

and he felt her breasts upon his chest as thoroughly as he knew that she

felt the ripple of his muscle and the blinding heat that led him now.

He pressed her into the quilt, down, down, into the hay. He crawled over

her again, seizing hold of her lips, kissing her until her breath came

raggedly, until her breasts rose and fell heatedly in his hands, until

she trembled wherever he touched her. Then he kissed her breasts again,

fascinated by the shape and texture and by the perfect marble beauty. He

lowered himself against her, near blinded by his own need yet driven to

see that she felt no pain, that she savored this time between them as he

did, that she remember the passion; the desperation, the aching, longing

need.

He kissed her between her breasts, then strayed down the length of her

breastbone. He touched her ribs with the tip of his tongue and delved

deeply into her navel the same way. And then he dropped his head still

lower. He felt her legs quiver and a quickening within her and heard the

soft, 159 shocked protest on her lips. But he ignored her and made love

completely to her, delving into the very femininity of her. She cried

out, this time not so softly. He laced his fin gets with hers and

touched and delved ever deeper. He brought the searing, damp heat of his

kiss and earess to the very bud of her desire. Her fingers tightened

painfully around his, but he wedged himself firmly_ between her thighs

and tenderly caressed her. She whimpered, tossing her head so her hair

spread out like a burst of sunrise. And still he drank ever more deeply

of her sweet scent and taste, until he could feel the pulse of desire

rising within her.

He crawled atop her then, discovering her eyes dosed, her face ashen.

And yet her fingers dug into his shoulders, and when he carefully

lowered himself over her and pushed slowly within her, he found her damp

and welcoming. He watched her face even as he thrust past the portals of

her innocence, and she never cried out or murmured a single protest or

whimper.

He sheathed himself slowly inside her, then he held and caught hold of

her chin.

Her eyes flew open, so large and dark, then they fluttered closed again

as he took her lips and caressed her with long, slow, leisurely

kisses--taking all of her mouth, exploring, tasting, savoring. And as he

kissed her he began to move within her, strokes as soft as velvet, slow

and evoea- five, coercive.

He felt something give within her when the pain had ~ faded and the new

pleasure began. There was an easing of her arms around him, and her

long, enchanting legs wound tightly around him. Her fingertips grazed

his shoulders, the nails lightly stroking. Soft sounds of passion began

to escape her.

He thrust hard then, unleashing the passion that had grown and simmered

and become explosive 'within him. He moved like the wind and like the

earth, and he whispered to words that meant nothing, words that barely

found and yet words that meant everything. Their lips met again and

again, parted, fused and sealed together, as did their bodies. He felt

himself grow slick with the heat they ignited in the night, and he knew

that he could not hold on much longer. And still he fought the climax

that clamored in his loins, in his heart, in his mind. He fought it,

driving her ever upward, leaving her shivering in moonbeams, taking her

ever higher. Then he felt it. A wild stiffening in her body, a stark

moment in which she seemed to fight him, then she was trembling beneath

him in great shudders.

He cast back his head. He felt a groan rumbling in his throat just as

the heat and fever and excitement within him drew to a massive pitch.

The sound escaped him, the life and energy and heat of his body shot

from him, filling her.

Again and again, shudders seized him, and he filled her again and again.