In his rush to taste her flesh, he ripped her blouse. The sound of the seam tearing would have snapped him back, but she moaned and wrapped herself around him. Instinctively he recognized the quiver of her body as desire, not fear. It clawed at him.

"I can't... stand it."

"Then don't," she murmured, thrilling when his arms clamped around her, when he lifted her off her feet so that she was pressed hard against him, heat to heat. "Touch me." She fisted her pale hands in his dark hair, amazed at the hunger that swarmed through her. "I'll go crazy if you don't."

Nearly stumbling, his mouth racing over her face and throat, he headed for the bedroom. But she wrapped her legs tight around his waist and shot new fire into his blood. By the doorway, he pressed her against the wall, using it to brace her. His desperate mouth clamped over her breast, suckling hard through her tattered blouse. Her response was to throw back her head and rock against him.

"More." She couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth, couldn't believe this vicious need had been in either one of them. With a groan, she reached down and tore her own blouse aside so that his mouth could take her.

She climaxed the instant his teeth closed over her, shocking herself with the power of it. For an instant she was like a moth, pinned, quivering helplessly, and then she was alive, bursting with life.

Mindless as coupling animals, they dragged each other to the floor.

She pulled at his shirt, he yanked at her slacks. Speech was impossible as they rolled over the floor in the narrow hallway, groping for each other. There were only gasps and moans. No sighs now, no murmurs, only hissing breath and thundering pulses.

Craving drove him, a craving long suppressed and denied. He yanked her hips high and ripped her practical cotton panties to shreds. And made her scream with his greedy mouth.

She bucked, then stiffened into a quaking bridge, her arms straining as her body arched up toward him. He drove her ruthlessly, relentlessly, until throaty growls rumbled in her throat.

"More." This time it was he who demanded it, he who groaned, as her nails scraped up his back and dug crescents into his shoulders. When her hand closed around him, his vision grayed, and the drumbeat of his pulse scrambled.

She was moving under him, writhing. Her eyes were nearly black, and blind with pleasure, when he fused his mouth to hers again. It was greed, rather than control, that kept him from ending it, that had him sliding sleekly down her body again, tasting and taking and touching until they were both mad.

He reared up, clamped his hands over hers, then plunged into her. Beyond all reason, he pumped and thrust, angling her rocking hips so that he could immerse himself in her, deep, then deeper. His mind had gone dark, leaving only snarling sensations as he rammed into that hot, wet pleasure with a feral force that had them both gasping.

She couldn't hold on. She tried, for him. How could she have known he needed like this? That she was capable of needing like this? How could she have known until he finally showed her? But she was being tossed too high now to fight her way back. Her hands slid off his damp skin, rapped hard on the wooden floor. She gave herself willingly to the last savage stab of pleasure, going weak as he continued to hammer himself into her.

Then that wonderful hard body heaved, went rigid. She saw him throw his head back as if in pain, saw with wonder that it was he who was lost. When he shuddered, shuddered and cried out her name, she wept with the joy of it.

He felt the tears against his shoulder the moment his sated body collapsed on hers. He would have levered himself away instantly, but her arms came around him.

"Don't. Please don't move."

"I'm sorry." There was nothing he could say to her that would be good enough, nothing he could say to himself that would be bad enough. "I hurt you. I promised I wouldn't."

"Do you know what you did?" Her lips were curved, but he couldn't see. All he could see was his own careless treatment of the most precious thing in his life. "You forgot."

"Forgot?" Again he tried to shift, again she held him tight.

"You forgot to be careful, you forgot to worry, you forgot everything. I didn't know I could make you do that. It makes me feel—" a long, satisfied sigh "—powerful."

"Powerful?" His throat was bone-dry. He wanted to lift her up off the floor. God, he'd taken her on the floor. He wanted to tuck her into bed and soothe her. But the word she'd used, and the tone, baffled him.

"Strong, sexy." At last she lifted her arms, stretched them above her head in a long, lazy movement. "Powerful. I've never felt powerful before. I like it. Oh, I really like it." Eyes closed, lips curved, she hummed in her throat.

And that was his first glimpse of her when he lifted his head, the smug smile and erotic glow of a woman who'd just discovered a dangerous and exciting secret. His blood stirred all over again. She looked... triumphant, he realized. Just who, he wondered, had ravaged who?

"You like it," he repeated.

"Mmm... I want to feel this way again. And again and again. I want to feel cherished, too, the way I do when you're gentle. I want to feel everything. I made you forget." She opened her eyes again and laughed when she saw the stunned and sated look in his eyes. "I seduced you. Didn't I?"

"You destroyed me. I tore your clothes."

"I know. It was exciting. Will you do it again?"

"I..." He shook his head, but when it didn't clear he gave up and lost himself in her eyes. "Anytime."

"Can I rip yours?"

Words failed him. He managed a couple of strangled sounds before clearing his throat. "We'd better get off the floor."

"I like it here. I like knowing you wanted me so much you couldn't wait." She lifted a hand to toy with the dark curls that fell, damp, over his forehead. "I like the way you're looking at me right now. It's probably wrong, and I don't care, but I like knowing you wanted me for years. That you watched me, and wanted me. Like this."

"I didn't exactly picture it like this."

Her lips curved again, a sly, knowing smile that made his blood swim. "Didn't you?"

"Well, maybe." His brain was still numb. It was the only part of him that seemed to have shut down. "Once in a while."

She pressed her lips together, ran the tip of her tongue over them. "I can still taste you."

"Oh, God."

A quick and delicious tremor coursed through her as she felt him move inside her. "I'm doing it again."

"Huh?"

"Seducing you."

He couldn't get his breath. "Looks like that."

She felt powerfully a woman, a normal, competent, well-loved woman. "Tell me you love me, Dev-in. While you're filling me, while you're wanting me, tell me you love me."

He couldn't keep himself from hardening again, from driving deep into her, from groaning as her body rose and fell with him.

"I love you." Helpless, he buried his face in her hair. Somehow she'd taken the reins from him. He could do nothing but ride. "I can't stop."

She absorbed it all, the love, the passion, the power, willingly matching his fast and desperate pace. When she knew he was falling off the edge with her, when they were each defenseless, she turned her lips to his ear.

"I love you, Devin. I love you. I think I always have."

When he could speak again, he gathered her up, cradled her in his lap. "I've wanted to hear that for a long time."

"I meant it. I couldn't have said it unless I did."

"I know." And it left him shaken and without defenses. "You've tossed my master plan into the Dumpster, Cass."

"How?"

"Well, I had it plotted out, you see. By my reckoning, I'd get you to fall in love with me by Christmas. Then I'd keep things at a nice, steady pace, and talk you into marrying me by spring."

"Let's not talk about marriage, Devin. Not yet. Not now."

He tipped her head back. "When?"

"I don't know." There was worry in her eyes again, and in her voice. "Marriage isn't always the right answer."

"It is for people like you and me." He nearly spoke of the children, but stopped himself. It wasn't right to use them to press his case. "I'd make you happy."

"I know you would." Sne turned her face into the curve of his neck. "Let this be enough for now. It's so much more than I ever thought I'd have. Let it be enough for now."

"For now." He contented himself with the scent of her hair. "Why don't we do this? Get ourselves some wine, some of that pie, have a little picnic?"

"I'd like that." She leaned back, smiled. "I'll get a couple of plates." But when she reached for her slacks, his hand closed over hers.

"You're not going to need those," he said, his eyes dark and wicked.

She laughed. "I'm not going to serve pie buck-naked." Then she blinked, felt a quick skitter of her pulse. "Am I?"

"Why don't we see?"

Chapter 11

School was out, and that made life for two ten-year-old boys close to perfect. The haunted woods that fringed between Bryan's cabin and the inn beckoned. There they could search for ghosts, listen for the pounding of mortar fire, or hunt for more tangible remnants of war in the dirt and brambles. Even after more than a century, old shells could be unearthed.

Connor had a collection Bryan envied, stubby bullets that looked like they were made of clay, an old brass button that had survived the uniform it belonged to and, best of all, the metal triangle of a stirrup Cassie had unearthed in the garden of the inn.

The boys had decided it had belonged to a Union general and his trusty steed.

Connor viewed this stretch of summer in a way he never had before. The last year had been exciting when they moved into the new apartment, but he'd still worried often that it would all end. Now he'd come to believe, now he could anticipate the long, hot days, the companionship of his best friend and a home where no one stumbled in drunk with fists raised.

He watched his mother still. Her eyes no longer looked so tired, and she laughed so much more than she had ever laughed before. He liked the way she put pretty things around the house, the flowers, the pale green glass she'd begun to collect from Regan's shop. But he kept quiet about that, because he knew the guys would rag on him for liking something as lame as flowers or glass bowls.

But not Bryan. Bryan was the best of friends, and didn't even mind if Emma tagged along with them. Bryan liked to listen to Connor's stories. Bryan could keep secrets. Bryan was his brother, his blood brother. They had held a solemn ceremony in the woods, pricking their fingers and mixing their blood together to seal the bond.

They spent some of those early days of freedom from books and classrooms in the tree house Jared had built on the edge of the woods nearest the cabin. Some they spent in the yard of the inn, practicing baseball. They would also cut through the trees and visit Shane at the farm. As Bryan said, Shane was very cool, and he never minded if they wanted to play with the dogs and the puppies or hang out in the hayloft of the big old barn.

But almost every day, it was the woods that pulled at them. And tonight they had finally wangled permission to camp out, just the two of them, deep in the haunted woods.

They had pitched Devin's old tent. It was Devin, Connor knew, who had turned the tide. His mother had worried over the idea of letting the two boys loose for a night, but Devin had talked to her about rites of passage and memories and friendships. He owed the most important night of his life to Sheriff MacKade.

They had built a fire carefully, in a circle of stones on clear ground, as Devin had shown them, and they had hot dogs and marshmallows to roast over it. Cas-sie had given them a big jug of juice, but Devin had slipped them a six-pack of soda and told them to take the empty cans, along with the other trash, over to the farm in the morning for disposal.

Their sleeping rolls were spread out in the tent, the moon was high and bright overhead, and owls were hooting. The fire crackled, and the scent of scorched meat stung the night air. The sweet, gooey taste of marshmallow was in Connor's mouth. And he was in heaven.

"This is the best," he said.

"It's pretty cool." Bryan watched his hot dog turn black on the end of his stick, just the way he liked it. "We should do it every night."

Connor knew it wouldn't be special if they did it every night, but didn't say so. "It's great here. Sheriff MacKade said that he and his brothers used to camp out in the woods all the time."