Relief and happiness and gratitude filled her; it had been harder than she’d expected, this throwing aside of pride and a lifetime of habit and expectation to ask for-no, demand-that which had always come almost as her due. To place so much trust in a man she knew so little had seemed to her a tremendous and terrifying gamble, and her awe at finding that trust vindicated now all but overwhelmed her.

I love you, she thought, knowing as she said it in her mind that in the long run it probably wasn’t true. Don’t make too big a thing of it, she warned herself. It’s probably only gratitude. But for that moment she allowed herself to believe it.

She believed it…because the sweet-hot demand of his mouth made her melt inside, and her legs go soft and trembly. She believed it…because the cool, silky feel of his hair on her skin made her want to cry. She believed it…because of all the times and all the ways she’d been touched, nothing before had ever made her feel so cherished.

His kisses were hot…slow…searing…almost more than she could bear. Laying her back on the bed with exquisite gentleness, he kissed her throat, her earlobes, the nape of her neck…not rushing, as if they had all the time in the world. And when she lifted her hands to the clasp of her necklace to give him clearer access, he smiled against her skin and murmured, “Leave ’em on. I’m gonna love you wearing nothin’ but diamonds…”

“They’re mostly topazes,” she whispered as he drew the last remaining scraps of her clothing away, her throat half-choked with wanting him.

“Okay…them, too.”

He touched her then, intimately…deeply and unhurried, watching her all the while with eyes so somber…mouth so tender…and a sweet dusky passion haze like velvet on his skin. She lifted her hands and filled them with the thick, silky textures of his hair…and tried to keep her eyes open because she wanted to watch him, too, while he touched her that way, the intensity of her desire building on the intensity in his gaze.

But that became too much…too quickly. No longer hers to control, her passion-weighted eyelids drifted shut. She arched into him, breathing in panting gasps. Her hands flowed like liquid over his skin…

His skin felt sleek and feverish to her, like the hide of some magnificent animal, his body hot and hard and vibrant beneath. I love your body, she thought, but couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because it was so much less than what she meant. And, she told herself, he’d probably heard it so many times before…

My God, you’re beautiful, he thought, but remembered not to say it as he gazed down at her face in the almost-darkness. Somehow he knew, though he couldn’t really see her, that her eyes had closed, that her mouth would be blurred and soft from his kisses…her skin rosy and misted with desire. But he realized as he looked at her that what was so beautiful to him wasn’t anything he could have seen with his eyes anyway, but rather, a picture of her he’d been carrying around in his mind for a while now. A picture that had no particular age or expression, that wore no special makeup or hairstyle-or perhaps it was a composite of all the ages, expressions and styles, not just of the Celia who was now, but all the Celias who had been or would be. In short, it was simply…Celia.

And he wondered when he’d stopped thinking of the woman in his arms as Celia Cross, TV star, extraordinarily beautiful woman, every man’s fantasy and way out of the reach of a simple Georgia boy-and when she’d become that…simply Celia.

Dazed and overwhelmed, he lowered his head and kissed her, and was just in time to capture her whimpered moan in his mouth. The sound punctured his heart like a lance, and he tore his mouth from hers and drew a quick, gasping breath. “Want me inside you now?” he asked her in his torn, devastated voice. “Celia…sweetheart…shall I love you now?”

Her reply caught in a high little laugh. “Oh-yes…please. I thought I was going to have to take desperate measures…”

Laughing, relieved, he nipped her lower lip, while his mind whirled with a strange effervescent happiness like a pinwheel shooting off sparks. “Such as?”

“Such as-” between words she lifted her head and took his mouth in hungry bites “-jumping on you and ravishing your body…”

“Aha…” He kissed her throat, then lifted his head to drawl tenderly, “And you think you could do that?”

“I thought-” her gasp, as he closed his mouth over one tight, hard nipple, delighted him “-in your weakened condition…”

“Weakened, am I?” He’d never felt stronger or more sure of himself. He lay back on the mattress like a Roman emperor being pleasured by handmaidens. “Then give it your best shot…” The words felt good mixed with laughter, vibrating deep inside, and he wondered if this was what cats felt like when they purred.

Then her hair and her laughter were flowing over his skin…along with her hands and her mouth, and the sharp, cool kiss of diamonds. And topazes…yes, them too. And he wondered if he was losing his sanity, and if there could possibly be such a thing as too much pleasure.

“Celia…” he murmured, cradling her head between his hands.

“Mmm…wait…” She lifted her head, leaving the moisture from her mouth to cool his heated skin. “I’m not done ravishing you yet…” She sounded like a sleepy lioness.

“Yeah…well, feel free to pick up where you left off another time. For right now…that’s about all the ravishing I can stand-if you know what I mean…”

She gave an ecstatic little gulp as he took hold of her under the arms, just below the soft pillows of her breasts, and ignoring sharp protests from his mending ribs, brought her up along his body, then in one swift motion rolled her over and under him. Rocking them both onto their sides, he swept his hand down her back, over her bottom and along the back of her thigh, and she hooked her legs around him and arched, panting, to make a place for him. She raised herself, reaching for him, whimpering. Her fingernails raked his back and her teeth nipped at his shoulders, her urgency only mirroring his.

But hot and hard and eager to be inside her as he was, somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was warning him to go slow…to be careful with her…that most likely it had been a while for her, too.

And somewhere else inside him was another voice whispering that maybe, just maybe…this moment might be one he’d like to hold on to, and remember.

So, he held himself back, entered her body slowly, drawing out the moment as long as he could, though it took all the self-control he had when every instinct wanted to plunge into her with jubilant abandon. The pleasure…the sensations…shivered through him like the prickling fire of Fourth of July sparklers. After the first shock of penetration, she gave a long sigh and began to move as he did, slowly, sinuously, opening to him by degrees, as if she understood how he was feeling, and maybe felt the same.

At some point-he didn’t know when-he’d laced his fingers through hers, and by the time he felt himself settled warm and deep inside her, his arms had begun to tremble with the strain of holding himself away from her. Now, dazed, he stared down at her face in the darkness and wanted to tell her how good she felt…how good he felt, joined with her that way.

Once again, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t, because it hit him that he’d never before thought of sex that way-as a joining. And how that could be, when wasn’t that what the whole thing was about? Hadn’t he known that? Surely, he must have. Maybe he just hadn’t understood. Hadn’t felt it before. In his heart. Joining…two people coming together to make one.

The wonder of that filled his chest. He opened his mouth, but nothing but air came out.

“What?” Celia whispered, sounding breathless in the darkness and touchingly young.

“Nothing…” He lowered his head and kissed her mouth, then her forehead, moist with desire. “Just…you feel so good…”

She reached with her mouth to find his again. “So do you…”

Again, her body moved in perfect harmony with his, and he gave up trying to understand it…to make any sense of it at all.

Though, to say he gave himself up to what was happening inside him…well, that would have been like saying he’d given himself up to an avalanche. Because he didn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter. The feelings just took him. Overwhelmed him. Buried him. And at the precise moment when he felt that tremendous power engulf him, he knew a moment of utter terror…then acceptance…and finally, peace.

Waking in the humid warmth of a shared bed, Celia knew first a purely hedonistic contentment…like a cat stretching languidly in a pool of sunshine.

That was followed by a lovely sensation of lightness, then a thought that struck her so sharply, so sweetly it was almost like pain: This is happiness. I…am happy.

Then, with a thoughtless, childlike anger: I want this always. I want this forever!

Raising herself on one elbow, she gazed down at the unguarded face of the man who still slept beside her. Her fingers tingled with a desire to touch him. Such strong bones he had, sparsely covered with flesh…he’d be magnificent, she thought, even when he was old. Rich dark hair, artificially frosted with silver…the newly straightened brows and the temporary scar she’d given him. His brutally altered nose. Jaws and chin rough with a night’s growth of beard…and oh, she was glad he’d talked her out of the goatee. It would have hidden his mouth…his wonderful mouth, that smiled so seldom and so wickedly. Like a pirate…

Her vision blurred, like watercolors in the rain. Thoughts and comparisons flew out of her head; there was only awe, and a love so intense it almost overwhelmed her.

I want this, she thought. I want him. Always and forever.

Maybe she’d trembled or given a start; maybe he felt the weight of her gaze…or her thoughts. In any case, the thick, dark lashes flew open. She caught her breath, and was momentarily disconcerted by the blue-eyed glare until she remembered he was still wearing his contacts. Until he surged upward, like a sea mammal surfacing for his first breath, to claim her mouth.

“Mmm…’morning,” she murmured huskily into the kiss, smiling at the unbearable sweetness, the impulsiveness of it.

“’Mornin’…” And his hand was already hooking around her neck, pushing under her hair as he pulled her down to him, and his mouth was opening under hers…hot and hungry…famished…

Desire twisted violently in her stomach, skated along her skin and began to throb in the part of her already swollen and sensitized to his touch. Dizzy with it, she thought fleetingly of things that would once have seemed important to her: What do I look like? Is my makeup smudged? Do I have morning breath? In the next moment, on a wave of stunning heat and joy and ardor, those thoughts simply vanished, along with others she probably should have remembered. Laughing and giddy, she followed him down into the tumble of pillows and flower-sprigged sheets, raining kisses on his cheeks and beard-roughened jaws, and down onto his neck and chin.

But when she would have carried her hungry forays even farther, to his chest and torso and belly and beyond, as she had the night before, he stopped her with a growl, and a guttural, “No, you don’t, darlin’-my turn now…” as he rolled her deftly onto her back.

Delightedly vanquished, she lay with her eyes closed while he trailed kisses across her throat and then her breasts, biting her lip to keep from whimpering, shivering and trying not to, her body wanting to arch with every touch, like a cat being petted. He kissed her nipples, first one then the other, and the sensation…unbearable pleasure…knifed through her. She drew up one knee and curled herself toward him, seeking him…her hands gathering in the silky thicket of his hair…urging him…begging him.

Answering her need, his head, and his mouth, moved lower, while his hand swept down across her belly to cup the hot, aching place between her thighs.

And something in her woke to a faint and distant cry…of warning…of dismay. Too late. She already felt his questing mouth, roving unrestrained, touch the numbed ridges of the scar on her abdomen.

Her hands clutched in his hair, her body spasmed inward, and panic burst from her in a single anguished cry. He lifted his head, brow furrowed. “What is it-did I hurt you?”

“No!” She could feel his hand on her belly, a heavy, aching weight. Squirming helplessly under it, she gasped, “Yes…I don’t want you to-please…don’t…”

Something in his eyes kindled…and burned. “You mean…this?” She could feel his fingers opening wide across her stomach, spreading warmth like healing balm. “Did you think I didn’t know about it?” As penetrating as his gaze was, his voice remained gentle…even wondering. “You told me, remember?”