Weak, he collapsed on her and tried to gather his scattered wits. "I'm sorry" was all he could manage, and that was no more than a whisper. He had to move, knew he had to move, but he simply couldn't. No experience in his life had ever sapped him like this.

He told himself it was because she had been innocent and the guilt was draining him.

She was shuddering beneath him, quick, violent shudders that damned him. He was mortally afraid she was crying.

"Rebecca, you should have told me." There had to be some way he could soothe her, but this was simply beyond his experience.

"Told you?" she repeated, in a voice almost too faint to hear.

"I wouldn't have pushed you. I wouldn't have-Hell, I probably would have." He found the strength to ease back and look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as the breath raced through them. "I hurt you. I must have hurt you."

Her eyes opened then. The gold was hardly more than a thin ring around the pupils. Shock, he thought, cursing himself again. But, to his confusion, those swollen lips curved.

"No, you didn't. It felt wonderful. I feel wonderful."

"But..."

"Does it always feel like that?" She let out a long, satisfied sigh. "So overwhelming, so...huge, as if nothing could stop you from getting from one incredible moment to the next. It's so..." She sighed again. "Primitive."

"I— No— Yes." What the hell was he supposed to say to that? To her? "I can't think straight yet."

Hearing that made her smile deepen. "I wasn't sure I'd be any good at it, but I was. Wasn't I?"

"You..." What the devil was going on? She wasn't crying, she wasn't upset at all. She looked like a cat who'd just dined on a platoon of canaries. More for his own benefit than for hers, he spoke slowly, carefully. "Rebecca, you'd never been with a man before."

"I wasn't particularly interested in a man before." She found the strength and started to lift her arms to circle him. Then her smile faded. "I wasn't good at it? I did something wrong? You're not feeling the way I'm feeling?"

"You destroyed me." Shane rolled off her to lie on his back and scrub his hands over his face. "I had no control. Even when I realized, I couldn't stop. I should have been able to stop."

"I'm sorry if I didn't do everything right." Stiff now with embarrassment, she sat up. "It was my first time, and I'd think you'd have some patience."

He swore at her and snagged her arm before she could climb regally from the bed. "Look at me. At me," he repeated, until her sulky eyes met his. "I'm not going to give you a damn grade, but I'll teil you this. I want you. Right now I want you again so much I could swallow you whole. It doesn't even seem to matter that I feel guilty that I was rough. If I'd known, I would have been gentle. I would have taken some care. I would have tried."

"You didn't hurt me, Shane." Something in her heart shifted as she lifted a hand to his cheek. "I didn't tell you because I thought it wouldn't happen if you knew. I thought you'd want someone with experience."

"Who the hell are you?" he murmured. "Why can't I understand you?"

"I'm still working on understanding myself." Leaning forward, she touched her lips to his, then sighed as he drew her close to cuddle. "This was the most beautiful first of my life. I want to feel this way again. You're an incredible lover."

"How would you know?" Surrendering, he nuzzled at her throat. "Ah, Rebecca?"

"Hmm?"

"Is something wrong with those academic types? How'd they manage to let you get away?"

She rubbed her curved lips over his shoulder. "If you'd known me even a year ago, you wouldn't ask. You wouldn't have looked at me twice."

"I always look at women at least twice. Any woman."

She chuckled, enjoying the feel of his muscles under her hands. "I was a mess, believe me." It didn't sting to admit it now, not now that she nestled in his arms, still groggy from loving. "A certified geek."

Amused, he drew her back. "Baby, no geek's ever had eyes like yours. I don't care what's in your brain, those eyes are pure sin."

She blinked. "They are?"

He laughed and hugged her hard. "We're going to have to make love a lot. It dulls your wits." He tipped her head back, kissed her lightly. "I've got work that can't be put off, or we'd get started right now."

Testing, she slid her hands over his chest. "Can you work fast?"

His heart stuttered. Before they could get into trouble, he snagged her hands and lifted them to his mouth. "I think today I can work real fast."

She had work to do herself, but stayed where she was when Shane went downstairs. He would have to eat a cold breakfast, she mused, and found herself wonderfully smug at the knowledge that he'd hungered for her more than for food.

She'd tempted him. Destroyed him, she thought, grinning at the ceiling. His words. What a powerful, wonderful thing it was to be a woman.

As much as she would have loved snuggling in bed with him all morning, she was glad to have the time alone. Now she would be able to relive and savor every moment, every sensation, every surprise.

Dr. Rebecca Knight, prodigy, lifelong nerd, academic wonder and social oddity, had a lover women would kill for. And, at least for a little while, he was all hers.

With a throaty sigh, she lay back amid the tumbled pillows, holding the excitement, the wonder, to her.

He had the face of some dark, clever angel, the hands of a working farmer and the body of... Well, why be conservative? The body of a god.

And if you went beyond the surface—which was outstanding—he was kind and sweet. Volatile, certainly, but that only added to the package. He was sturdy, the kind of man who did what had to be done, who worked hard, loved his family, respected his roots, laughed at himself.

For heaven's sake, he even cooked.

In her estimation, he was as close to perfect as the species came. And wasn't it a fine stroke of luck that she should fall in love with perfection.

She reared up in bed with a jolt. That was a textbook reaction, she reminded herself, swallowing panic. She was mixing emotion with a physical experience. Enlarging affection and attraction into a complicated equation. It was a very typical female response. Sex equals love.

She knew better than that. She was a psychiatrist.

Very slowly, she lay back again. Intelligence, training, even common sense, had nothing with it. She laid a hand on her heart gingerly.

Of course she was in love with him. She'd been in love with him all along—the cliche of love at first sight. She'd ignored it, given it different names, fit her newly developed sophistication over it. But it had been there.

Well, what now? Not that long ago, she would have run like a rabbit. No doubt, if she greeted Shane with a declaration, he'd run like a rabbit. But wasn't it just one more new experience? An emotion to be added to the others she'd finally allowed herself to feel? The only sensible course of action was to accept it, and deal with whatever came next as best she could.

She had weeks left to enjoy what she could have, and enough experience to know how to live without what she couldn't have. It might hurt in the end, but she could accept that, too.

Much worse than pain, she well knew, was having nothing at all.

* * *

With the first days of September gleefully pouring out the last of the summer heat, Shane was sweaty when he headed for the house at midday. He was filthy, a little bloody where he'd scraped his knuckle on a bolt, and afraid he might smell a bit reminis-cently of the manure spreader he'd just finished with.

But he'd also worked hard enough, and fast enough, to carve out two good hours of free time. He intended to occupy Rebecca for every moment of them.

He knew he had a stupid grin on his face, and didn't care. He wanted her in bed again, quickly. He needed to see if it had just been the novelty of her, or something more. All he was sure of was that he'd never been so involved, so lost in a woman, as he had been with her.

Because he'd never found it otherwise, he believed lovemaking was meant to be a pleasure. But with Rebecca, it had gone beyond pleasure, into delirium. He was looking forward to taking the trip again.

There she was at the table, working away, her glasses perched, long fingers flying. He started to grin, and a spear pierced his heart, painfully, when she looked up and smiled at him, her face lighting up.

"You really are beautiful," he murmured, and discovered he was clutching the doorknob for balance. Had a woman, any woman, ever knocked him off his feet before?

She could only stare at him. No one had ever called her beautiful. And at the moment, he looked as though he meant it. Then he grinned, and the dazed look left his eyes.

"Now, if you could only cook."

"I managed some iced tea."

"That's a start." And it might do something to cool his suddenly dry throat. He took out the pitcher, poured a generous glass and gulped. Choked. "Ah, how many bags did you use, Doc?"

"About a dozen."

He shook his head and hoped his eyes would stay in their sockets. The stuff in his glass was as thick and strong as a trucker's fist. "Well, it ought to get the blood moving."

She snickered. "Sorry. I'm useless in the kitchen. It probably shouldn't have steeped for three hours, either."

"Probably not." Cautiously he set the glass aside. He wouldn't have been overly surprised if it simply marched away under its own power. "We can dilute it. I've got a fifty-gallon drum outside."

"I could make a sandwich." When she rose, he held up a hand.

"Thanks anyway. I'll do it. No, don't come near me. I smell like the wrong side of a cow."

Enjoying the little bubbles of anticipation bursting in her blood, she traced her tongue over her lips. "You're awfully dirty," she said. She liked it. "And sweaty. Take off your shirt."

A lightning bolt of desire flashed into his gut. "You're very demanding. I like that in a woman." Still, he backed up again. "I don't want to touch you. You're all neat and tidy, and my hands are covered with things you wouldn't want on that pretty sweater."

She looked down at them, then let out a little hum of concern. "You're bleeding."

"Just scraped a knuckle. Let me wash up."

"I'll do it." She took his hand before he could turn on the tap.

She bathed his hand herself, knitting her brows over the scrape. He had the pleasure of standing there while she soaped his hands, rubbed them gently between hers.

He began to fantasize about taking a shower with her. Wet bodies, slicked skin, rising steam.

"I guess you'll live. But you should be more careful." She sniffed, wrinkled her nose. "What have you been doing out there?"

He grinned. "Spreading manure."

Her eyes popped wide. "With your hands?"

The intriguing little fantasy burst. He laughed so hard he thought his ribs would crack. "No, darling, we've got technology now, even out here in the boonies."

"Glad to hear it." She turned away, intent on helping him with his lunch, and bumped solidly into the refrigerator. "Damn it. I haven't done that in ages." Feeling ridiculous, she snatched her glasses off. "I used to forget I was wearing them and walk into things all the time."

He sent her a curious look. "I didn't think you forgot anything."

"Only about myself. Ask me about anything else, and I'll give you chapter and verse."

"Wool."

She turned and straightened, a platter of ham in her hand from the refrigerator. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe I'm thinking about buying some sheep. Tell me about wool."

"Don't be ridiculous."

He shrugged, reached for the bread. "I guess I found something you don't know about."

He didn't have to look to know her eyes had narrowed. He could hear it in her voice.

"An animal fiber forming the protective covering or fleece of sheep or other hairy mammals such as goats or camels. Wool is mainly obtained by shearing fleece from living animals. Cleaning removes the fatty substance, which is purified to make lanolin. Shall I go on?"

Amused, impressed, he studied her. "That's very cool. Where were you when I was in high school?"

"In a snooty boarding school in Switzerland, if my calculations are accurate."

"I imagine they always are," he murmured. The tone, the cool defense in it, told him this was something to be explored later. She spoke of boarding school the way he had once spoken of liver—as something highly detested.

"It's not just remembering facts," he said casually. "You obviously apply them. So how did you decide what to study?"