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nakedness as if he were memorizing, painting her in his mind to keep.
    “In my heart you are my wife.”
    If she had still been afraid of him, those words would have melted any last resistance, any last worry. As he touched one nipple with his fingers, she gasped. His lips captured the other nipple, and she groaned as he twirled his tongue about her, then suckled. She trembled, a quiver of something she could not define invading her body.
    He moved back from her, and for a moment she feared he would stop this exquisite torture. Instead, he led her to the bed. He parted the velvet hangings, allowing her to see the soft covering. Before he could press her down on the bed’s expanse, she reached for the last of her garments, unfastening the petticoats at her waist, letting them fall onto the floor. She removed her pantalets, and they, too, dropped to the floor.
    Who would ever have guessed she would be so bold? So indescribably eager for something she had never experienced before.
    He stood for long moments gazing at her, a look on his face she had never seen and could not define. Sweet, perhaps. Passionate, most assuredly. First his gaze centered on her face, and she felt a flush of warmth as his gaze dropped to her breasts, her waist, and finally to her hips and legs. A blush stole along her body as he continued to look at her. His lips parted as if he might speak. Instead he removed his doublet, then removed his shirt in quick jerks, as if the garments burned his flesh. The unwanted cloth fell to the floor, and his torso was naked.
    Her eyes widened in pleased surprise. She had never seen a man with such broad shoulders, such muscles. She had felt his strength when he had carried her, but to see the strength in naked flesh was quite another thing. Amazed, she looked at the hair on his chest, the way it moved downward in a straight line toward his flat stomach and the waistband of his trousers. He moved slightly, and his pectoral muscles clenched. She gazed, fascinated at the interplay of light along his smooth skin. She itched to touch him.
    No. She ached. In her breasts, between her thighs. Where she had never ached before.
    He walked toward her. As he reached her, he gathered her against him. With a surge of need she burrowed her fingers into the hair on his chest, felt for his nipples and teased them the way he had tormented her earlier. His breath drew inward, a hissing sound almost like pain.
    She drew back hastily, her eyes wide. “Did I hurt you?”
    His smile was strained. “Oh, yes.”
    But before she could apologize his mouth was on hers, and as he crushed her to him, she felt the power of renewed desire dance in her abdomen and march along her limbs. Quickly he drew away, startling her. But it was only to unfasten his trousers, and he took them off.
    She was not quite astonished by the sight of his male need. She had felt this strange hardness pressed against her, but she had no idea it would be so strong looking, so intriguing. In fascination and half fear she touched him, and he stilled her hand. Wondering if she was doing something wrong, she stopped.
    “No,” he whispered. “It is all right.”
    He shaped her hand around him, tutored her touch. To her amazement he grew even more ridged, larger. In her fascination she wondered how and where…what did this intriguing part of his body do with hers? What must they do to ease this tight, aching feeling?
    When she looked into his eyes she saw the edge. The edge of his control slipping as surely as if he was leaning over a precipice. Trembling with excitement, she was eager to know what this secret could be.
    He urged her down on the bed, and as she sank into the soft surface, he lay half over her, insinuating his thigh between hers, pressing it against that most female part of her. The roughness of him made her moan, and the pleasure of the pressure made her arch in an attempt get closer. Every movement of his strong body became a study for her, a lesson in