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legs. Before she could tear her lips free to voice a belated spurt of modesty, he captured her wrist and brought it against him, sliding her open palm downward from his chest to his abdomen. He pressed her hand to the hard shape beneath his breeches, groaning against her mouth as she touched him. Suddenly his hand left hers and tore at his buttons, and then she felt his naked flesh against her palm, smooth and hot and insistent.
    Merlin whimpered, confusion and excitement surging through her. Never had she felt like this, never been this close to another person in her memory. It felt wonderful, a tingling through her limbs, a weakness like water, shyness and exhilaration and a sweet, soaring need. She wanted something, and he knew what it was. He had to, for he gave it to her when she couldn't name it herself.
    He covered her with his body, holding her down, spreading kisses across her face and throat. His heat nestled between her legs, seeking, sliding against her sensitive skin until she moaned in answer. She arched her back up to capture more and found him waiting, felt the heavy intrusion, a response that was so perfect and unexpected that the pain of it was lost in the pleasure.
    His hands cupped her face as he pushed gently into her. He felt like sun and soft grass and summer wind, and then rougher, like gathering weather, like hard rain and howling gusts. She gave herself up to him, soaring, a wing-free hawk in the wild arms of the storm. His power rocked her and carried her to blue-lit heights, so high she could barely breathe, and then higher yet again, panting and straining, upward and upward until his lightning exploded around her and she cried out in mingled pain and joy.
    She clutched at him, as if she were falling, reeling down through the sun-shafted clouds. He gathered her close, murmuring comfort and love, warming her cheek with his heavy breath. He nuzzled her throat, burying his face against her skin. “Merlin.” It was a groan. “I've never felt like this. I think I—” He swallowed and made another wordless sound. “You'll say this is impossible, and my God, it is impossible, but I think I love you.” He stroked her torso and then her face, tracing her eyebrows and her lashes. “I love you. Merlin, Merlin, I love you. Do you believe me?"
    He sounded so desperate, so suddenly human. She opened her eyes, trying to focus on the question he'd asked. “Of course,” she mumbled in confusion, taking refuge from his intensity in quick agreement. She pushed ineffectually at her skirt, but he caught her hand.
    "No,” he said. “You're beautiful. Don't be shy of me.” He ran his fingers along the smooth, damp line of her inner thigh. “Did you like it, Merlin? Did I please you at all?"
    Her mind felt like jelly. She could only nod again, not even understanding the question.
    He caught her hand and carried it to the joining of his legs. “You pleased me,” he said. His voice was strange and thick. “Lord, that's the understatement of the century. Do you feel that? For God's sake, I already want you again. Merlin, sweet Merlin—I want you. All of you. I want you to think of me and nothing else."
    "But my wing design,” she protested. Her voice sounded weak and breathless as he shifted his weight across her. “I have to think of that."
    "The devil take your wing design. Must you be so bloody literal?” Stiff cotton rustled as he pulled her blouse halfway down her shoulder. He kissed the soft skin of her underarm. “Sweet Jesus, you are lovely. I can't bear it. I have to love you again."
    "Shouldn't you take off your boots?” Merlin asked timidly. “Thaddeus will be furious if you get mud on the counterpane."
    He looked up, offense and laughter chasing one another across his handsome features. “I didn't change for dinner, by God. Why should I change for dessert?” He leaned over her. “Besides, His Grace of Damerell never has mud on his boots."
    "Oh.” The syllable came out a gasp as Merlin