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He thrust his fingers into her thick hair and held her there, immobile, while he kissed her as thoroughly and long as he'd wanted to since the first moment he saw her, in the jeweled sunlight of the church.  
    By the time he raised his head again, she was panting and her eyes shone with tears.  
    "Gabriel, I'm --" she stammered softly.  
    He hushed her with kisses, and slid his hand down her arm. She was firm and smooth, her limbs lightly muscled. When his fingers drifted back over to tease the distended tip of her breast, she gasped, sucking air from his mouth, and her body tensed, then relaxed just a bit. Enough for him to notice.  
    Ah, she only needed some petting. His desire was rising, fueled by her very slowness to respond. The woman knew how to tantalize a man. Gabriel let his hand roam further, caressing her ribcage, noting her narrow waist then the swell of her hips. Her concave stomach was tautly muscled, unusual in a woman who had born a child.  
    He stopped, his hand splayed over her stomach, his head resting in the hollow of her shoulder. He was so ready he feared what would happen if he didn't slow down.  
    Another surprise. He had entered into this enterprise with his usual single-minded determination, examining all the possibilities before deciding on the most expedient way to assure an heir. Then he'd taken the steps to make it happen. It had never occurred to him that this widow, who had already born and lost a child, would be so young or so appealing.  
    Lorilla smelled of the same scent that had always pervaded this house, the delicate flowery odor of the French soap his mother had used, then his wife. Gabe shook his head, ridding himself of thoughts of Elena. At the same time, Lorilla's hand crept up around his neck, her fingers shyly toying with the hair at his nape.  
    He drew in a ragged breath and let his lips explore the hollow of her neck. Another quiet gasp rewarded his efforts.  He moved his hand lower and felt her legs tighten.  
    "Has it been a long time, chiquita ?" he whispered. "Just relax. I will not disappoint you." He ran his tongue along her collarbone, then moved lower, to take the point of one breast in his mouth. At the same time he began to caress her in earnest, touching, rubbing, coaxing her body to ease the way.  
    Lorilla moaned, and with satisfaction, he felt her hands press his head into her breast. He laved and suckled, drawing the tip in, then letting it go, then in again, until it was tight and throbbing with reaction. He moved his fingers lightly, caressingly, and her breathing escalated.  
    Carefully, slowly, Gabe delved into her with one cautious finger. Her body arched, whether in desire or in shock, he wasn't sure. But his ministrations had not been in vain. The way was wet and slick.  
    He took her mouth in a sweet, torturous parody of lovemaking. "Ready?" he whispered.  
    "Oh, Gabriel?" she breathed as he urged her knees apart. Raising himself above her, Gabe slid into her.  
    And stopped.  
    His head whipped up. His heart thundered. He cursed softly in Spanish.  
    Lorilla moved beneath him. "What?" she gasped. "Did I do something wrong?"  
    His shock had not decreased his desire, so he pushed again, hoping against hope that he was mistaken. But no.  
    Growling like a wild beast, Gabe threw himself away from her and rolled off the bed in one swift motion. Despite his shaky limbs, he managed to don and tie his robe. He lunged out the door, slamming it behind him.  
    He had to get away from her. He had to think.  
    Gabe stalked to his room and threw on a pair of pants. Anger and astonishment burned through him like wild fire as he stalked out of the house. He stopped at the well and cranked up the bucket, glad for the exercise.  
    With muscles straining, he lifted the bucket over his head, turned his face up and poured. The cold water hit his hot face with a shock. It splashed over him, soaking his robe and breeches, and cooling the desire that