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succeed,” she said with a taunting smile. “There is nothing singular about you, Captain Dalgleish. What you can give me, I don’t doubt I could have from any other man of my acquaintance. You said as much yourself.”
    “As I also pointed out, you chose to wait for me,” he reminded her. Her wrists were released abruptly. Ewan strode over to the door of the saloon. The lock clicked home.
    He moved purposefully towards her. “Turn around.”
    The ribbon from her waist was untied and placed around her eyes as a blindfold. “What are you doing?” Belle asked, a tremor in her voice.
    “Proving a point. Since you cannot see me you are free to imagine me whichever man of your acquaintance you choose. But you will not be able to, Belle. No matter what you may say, I know you wantonly me. And you will admit it.”
    “I am at your command. I will say anything you would have me say.”
    “No, Belle, you will say it because it is true.”
    Strong hands on her. Her dress untied. Her petticoats, her stays, her chemise, all expertly removed. The pins taken from her hair. She could feel it cascading down her back. She stood, vulnerable in her stockings and slippers, unable to see, afraid to move, yet unafraid.
    “I won’t say it because it isn’t true,” she said, knowing she was lying, knowing he knew it, too, knowing that the battle of wills enhanced the wild excitement of the battle of the flesh.
    Nothing happened for a few agonising seconds. Time seemed to stand still, the sense of anticipation almost unbearable. Suddenly, she felt a hand touch her head, long fingers combing through her hair, fanning it out over her shoulders. He was standing behind her. She could feel the cloth of his coat. His mouth on the nape of her neck. Cool lips on hot skin, on the lobe of her ear, trailing kisses down to her shoulder. Fingers kneading her flesh. Hands reaching round to cup her breasts, trailing down to the curve of her waist, a tantalising flicker on the soft skin at the top her thighs. Belle stood motionless, her mind floating, empty of thoughts, allowing sensation to take over. Cloth on skin. Cool on heat. Dry on wet.
    Ewan guided her towards a sofa and arranged her there on her stomach, running his hand along the perfect contour of her spine, curling into her waist, curving out to her bottom. Such skin, such softness. curves and flesh, all so different from his own. Shesmelled of flowers and spice. As she shifted restlessly under his caress, he caught a glimpse of black curls curtaining flesh darkened by arousal. Desire twisted like a knife in his gut.
    Quickly, Ewan divested himself of his clothing. To take her, possess her utterly was what he most desired. But first he needed her, more than he cared to admit, to put the evidence of her own desire into words.
    The delightfully ticklish sensation of something unbearably light being trailed over her back raised goose bumps on already over-sensitised skin. Belle shifted on the sofa. Between her thighs now, whispering down, on the backs of her knees, her ankles. Back again. She arched her bottom up, pressing her knees into the sofa to give her purchase, inviting the soft caress back, down, between.
    A quite different sensation now. A tongue, licking down the curve of her bottom, velvet soft, dipping into the curve of her thighs, away again. She tried to imagine another man as he had commanded, but it was impossible. She did not need to see him. Her body knew it was Ewan. Could only be Ewan.
    Something else now, playing on her skin. Silken, hard, nudging against her thighs. “Ewan,” she said, arching against him.
    Cold space. “Say you want me, Belle,” Ewan whispered.
    Silence.
    His erection was nudging against her, sliding against her. She felt the tip of him part her. Feelings almost painful in their intensity. Deprived of her sightit was as if all her other senses were enhanced.
    “Belle?”
    Silence.
    Cold again. She was turned over. Sprawled on the settee, one leg