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gasp—and she couldn’t help but laugh, “This is heaven.”
    â€œIt is,” he agreed, and they began moving.
    Jemma had never been a participant in making love before. Her husband had never expected it . . . but now, she realized, he’d never taken her to this place. Nor had she wanted him to. How could she, if she’d never known such desire, such passion existed?
    Or did it only exist with Dane?
    She clasped him tightly, her arms around his neck, her legs holding his hips. She began whispering his name. Her insides coiled tighter and tighter.
    He told her she was beautiful, that she was wonderful, that he had missed her—
    The force and power of release was overwhelming.
    One moment Jemma was of this earth, and in the next, she was beyond, in a place she had never been before.
    She cried out her surprise, unmindful of who could hear her, the pinnacle so intense, so vibrant that she’d ceased to exist in every way save this one.
    And Dane knew she was there. He buried himself deep within her, and Jemma would have held him there forever if she could.
    The life force flowed from him and into her. For one shining, vibrant moment, she was complete. Whole. Sated. Perfect.
    Dane’s body collapsed on hers. His weight felt good.
    â€œDear God,” he whispered, “dear sweet heavenly God.” His fingers were still buried in her hair. He brought his hand to his mouth, raising his lips over it before untangling his fingers. He smoothed her hair over the pillow.
    Slowly, Jemma became aware of her surroundings beyond Dane—the fire in the hearth, the flickering candles, the velvety spread beneath her. The air was laden with the scent of sex.
    Dane pulled the spread from one side and tossed it over their nakedness. Then, sliding over to her side, he wrapped his arms around her and, like a man, fell asleep.
    But Jemma didn’t sleep. Her body still hummed with the excitement of newly discovered passion. Ever so slowly, she returned to reality, and with it came regrets.
    She had played the devil’s game. She would never forget this night. For as long as she lived, she would be haunted by it, because no other man would ever compare to Dane.
    In less than one hour, he’d made her feel vital and alive. But now, she had to return to her life as it was. If she didn’t, she might be tempted to throw aside all respectability and beg him to keep her. To leave all her responsibilities behind, all the people who counted on her and the allegiance she owed her family . . .
    She could give up everything for this one man.
    Dane had always had that power over her, and now she understood why her father had fought so hard to keep them apart. In a way, she wasn’t certain her father hadn’t been right to encourage her to marry another. These emotions she felt for Dane—the lust, desire, hunger—they couldn’t be healthy. They were too overwhelming.
    Snuggled against him, she ran her hand down his side, feeling his ribs and the bone of his hip. She rubbed her nose against his shoulder, drinking in his scent.
    She could stay like this forever. Her fingers touched his now relaxed member. It was still more than what her husband could have boasted, and she smiled before being struck by a wave of sadness.
    Tonight had been a magic moment of “what could have beens.” But the moment was over. The time had come to leave.
    She’d fulfilled her part of the bargain. Cris was safe. She prayed her brother never found out what she’d done to save his life. If he did, Cris was stupid enough to challenge Dane again.
    Jemma knew in her woman’s soul she could not make love to Dane a second time and escape unscathed. Her heart was involved. She knew that now. The love she had once felt for him had been true. Her father had been wrong.
    She’d been wrong.
    Hugging him tight, she reveled one last time in the texture of his skin, of being here with him