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ears, her toes, every extremity experienced the force of his influence — and he still touched only her shoulder. It frightened her, his power, and she reconsidered her plan of action. After all, he’d put down the diary … “Hamilton?”
    “Keefe,” he corrected.
    “I don’t think we should —”
    “No, no.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “You aren’t allowed to think. You should only feel.” Gathering her into his arms, he pressed their bodies together. “Feel this.”
    Her curves melted onto the firm structure of his chest, and she trembled. Already he was forming her to his desire, taking her sense of individuality and creating a new creature, one composed of man and woman together.
    Yet she couldn’t allow that. Not yet. She had a mission. She had a duty, and she couldn’t allow him to distract her so completely that she failed. She fought to retain her reason and, moving with a care she hoped would fail to alert him, she knocked Ronald’s diary off the bed.
    It landed with a muffled thump.

 
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     

     
    HAMILTON STOPPED, suddenly alert.
    Laura’s voice quavered, but she said bravely, “I think I would like you to kiss me.”
    He returned his attention to her as suddenly as he had removed it. “Really?” He almost purred with anticipation, and thrusting his hand into her hair, he held her still. And he kissed her.
    After that kiss, he no longer had to hold her.
    For the luxury of his kisses, she would do anything, be anything he wanted.
    But her compliance didn’t seem to satisfy him. If anything, it drove him to a frenzy of touching. He stroked her jaw to the point of her chin, her neck and her collarbones. He caressed her arms, then linked their hands and brought them up. “Look,” he urged. “See the way our fingers entwine. That’s how our bodies will be soon.”
    As he commanded, she looked. Her fingers rested between each of his, spread wide by the width of his knuckles. Clearly she saw his superior strength, his size, the mastery with which he handled her. The precariousness of her plight broke over her. If she allow this to happen, would she ever recover herself? If she melded with Hamilton, could she return to her former shape, or would she always contain a little bit of Hamilton in her soul?
    Besides — she looked again at the size of his hand, at the size of hers — this would likely hurt. Physically and mentally, this would change her.
    She writhed in belated panic. “We can’t do this. It won’t work.”
    “It will. I promise it will.”
    She became aware of something else. His palm cradled hers. His hand was moving, pressing and caressing the places where the nerves lay close under the skin. He knew how to make her like his touch; at the same time, he alarmed her and made her want more.
    The man was an expert at whatever he did. If he were the smuggler, he would be the best.
    If he were the Seamaster, he would catch his man.
    If he were her lover, she would be satiated when they finished.
    “Trust in me,” he crooned.
    “You’ll stop if I tell you?”
    “I’ll do whatever you wish.”
    After making her wish for him. Slowly, she agreed, “I will trust you — for now.”
    “That’s a start.” Loosening his hands, he used them to strip the gown off her hips. Her white pantalettes tied at her waist, reached below her knees and were so sheer he could see the color between her thighs. She burned when he gazed at her. She tried to cover herself with her hands.
    “Don’t.” He took her wrists. “I’ve fantasized about your body, and it’s better even than I’ve dreamed.”
    Astonished and vaguely offended, she asked, “You thought about this?”
    “Of course.” He looked right into her eyes. “Didn’t you?”
    She wanted to refute it. She hadn’t thought about it … had she? She’d never imagined what it would feel like if he kissed her. She hadn’t thrilled to the thought of his body against hers.
    Yet she couldn’t speak the words