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loins ached. He could imagine her hand moving so caressingly over him. A pulse hammered in his temple and a heavy heat spread over him in waves of sheer lust. He hadn't made a sound, but she must have felt his presence, for her head turned toward him like that of a startled deer. She went still. Then, when she recognized him in the shadows, she laughed shakily. "I must be more nervous than I thought. You fright-ened me." The tenseness flowed out of her. She bent over the stream to dip her improvised washcloth once more into the water. "This feels wonderful. I'll let you have your handkerchief back in a moment, but if I don't get some of this sand and sweat off me, I'm goingto perish."
    "Take your time." His voice was hoarse, almost guttural, and there was tension about his massive shadow that generated a matching nervousness within her. She couldn't decipher his expression in the dusk, but she could feel his gaze on her. She was suddenly conscious of her partial nudity and had the impulse to scramble hurriedly back into her shirt. How very stupid! She was wearing more than she customarily did on the beach and they were in a situation where practicality, not modesty should prevail. "I wish I had something else to wear," she said with forced cheerfulness.
    "I have another shirt in my backpack that you can have." He was moving slowly toward her. "It will probably come down to your knees but at least it's clean." He paused beside her, looming over her like a solid wall. "I'll go and get it."
    She shook her head. "Then you won't have anything to wear. I've taken too much from you already.' She tilted her head to gaze up at him. "I'm very grateful, you know. I don't think I told you that."
    "I don't want your gratitude." He dropped to his knees beside her. "I'm going to want a hell of a lot of things from you, but gratitude isn't one of them." He laid his rifle on the ground beside him. His fingers were rapidly unbuttoning his shirt and stripping it off. Then he was bending over the creek, delving into the water and scrubbing his face and throat with the energy that characterized his every movement. The bronzed muscles of his shoulders and back were rippling and sliding as he moved, and her gaze clung to him compulsively. He wasn't really handsome by any conventional standard. There was no reason for her to get this breathless and to be unable to look away from him. Virile magnetism and the muscular grace of a Roman gladiator were all he possessed. All? It was more than enough to make her knees go weak and cause her hands to shake so badly that she could hardly hold on to the handkerchief.
    He was splashing the cool water on the cloud of furry hair on his chest now, and she could see the water beading his flesh. She had a sudden impulse to lean forward and lick the drops away. The   thought sent a thrill of pure shock through her. Desire.
    Despite the assurance of the psychiatrist she'd been seeing every week for the past six years, she had never believed she would experience that particular emotion. Yet how could this primitive yearning be anything else?
    She could feel her breasts swell, their peaks hardening in an incredible response. She wanted to cover that response with her hands, but that would have been too revealing an action. She snatched up her shirt instead.
    "No!"
    Her eyes widened and flew swiftly to his face.
    His gaze was on her full breasts veiled only by the sheer lace of the bra she wore. His face was heavy with a sensuality that made her catch her breath. "Not yet," he said huskily. "Come here."
    Her tongue moistened her lips. "I don't think that would be a good idea. This situation is so . . . extraordinary that our reactions are a little out of kilter."
    "Yours may only be out of kilter, but mine are going crazy." His finger reached out to touch the betraying prominence of one nipple through the lace of her bra. "And I think you're progressing nicely in the same direction."
    She flinched back. It was as if she