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longing he had known four years before. And he wanted to prove that he could master that longing and take one kiss and that it would mean absolutely nothing.
    He took another step toward Laura. She took a step back so that she was trapped between his body and the warming room door. She was clutching one of the shirts to her breast now like armor.
    “Mr. Anstruther,” Laura said, her voice a thread of sound, “this is most improper.”
    “You were swift enough to help me out of my clothes the last time we met,” Dexter said, “and we both know that your concessions to propriety are only for outward show.” He took the shirt from her hands and tossed it carelessly aside, closing the space between them.
    He saw the expression flare in Laura’s eyes, pain as well as heat. “I did not invite you here to—”
    “To take up where we left off?”
    Dexter was so close to her now that he could see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the damp muslin of her gown and the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat. He wanted to rip the dress from neck to hem and expose her pale body to his sight and touch.
    The violence of his reaction shocked him, a man who prided himself on his self-control, even as the shock was swept away by the desire that ran through his blood in a ravening tide.

    “Perhaps you did not intend this.” His words were a breath against her lips. “But now that I understand what it is that you want…”
    Confusion flickered in the hazel eyes so close to his. “What I want?”
    “Yes. An affair. No complications, no involvement. Four years ago you told me that sex was nothing more than sport to you. So that is what I am offering now—a love affair, nothing but pleasure.”
    She put a hand against his chest and pushed him away from her. “I never said an affair was what I wanted!”
    Anger and lust warred in Dexter. The feeling was utterly alien to him. He did not want to talk. His need for her had pushed him beyond that but still the bitterness in him could not be denied. His voice was harsh. “Four years ago I asked you to elope with me and instead you laughed at me and threw me from the house. It was clear that you did not wish for any emotional entanglement.”
    “No, I did not….” Her voice caught. “But I did not intend you to interpret that as a desire for an affair.”
    “No?” His anger increased by several notches. It seemed as uncontrollable as his need for her and his lack of restraint only served to inflame him further.
    “So all you sought was one night of passion,” he said bitterly. “I realize that when your appetite was slaked you wanted nothing other than for me to leave.” He did not give her the opportunity to reply. His delusion of self-restraint vanished and he bent his head and kissed her, determined now to prove that there was nothing unique or exceptional in his response to her and there never had been.
    As soon as they touched he knew he had lost.
    His mouth slanted over hers with the same precise perfection that he remembered.
    They matched as though they were made for one another. Their bodies came together gently, flawlessly, with the same exquisite sense of rightness as before.
    The thought knocked the breath from Dexter’s body as powerfully as any physical reaction. There was no uncertainty between them. Their bodies recognized each other with an instinct older than time. The sense of belonging together was strong and dangerously seductive. Old feelings and emotions started to awaken.
    “This is how it was always meant to be…”
    Dexter knew that such thoughts and emotions were an illusion. They had to be. He might achieve physical bliss with Laura Cole but there was no more to it than that. There was no real sense of rightness, no belonging, no love . Love was a misnomer for infatuation anyway, and he was too old and experienced to feel that now. But in trying to banish the need he felt for her all he had managed to achieve was to awaken every