She ducked her head as though embarrassed. "I'm hot."

He watched in amazement as the material of her blouse parted and her throat came into view.

She peered at him. "Would you like to do this?"

"I've... I've never unbuttoned a lady's blouse before."

"It's not much different than unbuttoning your shirt. You just slip the button through the hole." He could hear the laughter in her voice as she demonstrated with ease and exposed a little bit more of her flesh.

Clay felt as though someone had just stuffed cotton into his mouth. Rubbing his hands along his thighs, he tried to calm their trembling. He reached for the button, and his knuckles grazed the inside swells of her breasts. He jerked his hands back. "Maybe you'd better unbutton that one."

She shook her head slightly. "I want you to."

He took a deep breath and returned his fingers to the button. His hands didn't want to cooperate. They didn't want to push a button through a hole. They wanted to open and cup her breasts. He tried to force

them to forget (hey were nestled between the lush valley of her breasts. Her button went flying out into the night "Damn!" He moved his hands away from her blouse. "If we find it, I can sew it back on."

She wrapped her hands around his. "I'm not worried about my button. I'm worried that maybe you don't want what I'm offering."

He swallowed hard. "What are you offering?"

"All of me."

"Oh, Lord." He bowed his head. "I want you so bad, Meg, that it hurts. I've loved you so long that I can't

remember when I didn't." He lifted his gaze to hers. "You won't even say my name."

"I will." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I promise I will."

"When?"

"When it'll mean the most."

"Do you still hate me?"

She shook her head. "No. I haven't hated you for a long time. I tried to hate you. I pretended that I did

because it frightened me to have all these feelings again. I loved Kirk. I wanted to die when he did. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love with anyone else." She laid her palm against his cheek and smiled tenderly, with tears welling in her eyes. "But I have."

Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss into the heart of her palm. "I don't know how to show you what I feel without fumbling all over myself... and you."

"Then I'll show you," she said in a voice as sultry as the night. He didn't know if he'd survive her showing him, but he was willing to chance it She presented him with her profile as she worked her shoes off. He tugged off his boots and tossed them aside. He'd worry about find them later. She touched his knee and might just as well have touched his heart, so tender was her caress.

"I'll finish undressing you in a minute," she said.

She hiked her skirt over her knee, and he watched as she slowly peeled her stocking down her calf, over her ankle, and past her toes. Where was a full moon when he needed one? One that would shine on her and not on him.

Abruptly, she spun around and placed her stocking covered foot in his lap. "You can take this one off."

He wrapped his hand around her calf. "You're so smooth, so soft." He rolled the stocking down, slipped

it off, and covered her foot with his hand. "You have such small feet."

"And small ears."

He lifted his gaze to her chest where her fingers were busily giving freedom to her buttons. The valley widened. "I don't think they're as small as I thought."

She eased out of her blouse, exposing her shoulders to the night. He rugged on the ribbon holding her

chemise together. The bow disappeared, and the material parted.

She rose to her knees and slipped the straps off her shoulders. "You do the rest."

He fumbled with the buttons, ribbons, lace, and cotton, but she didn't seem to mind. She moved slightly

to accommodate his needs, to give him easier access to her clothes. He didn't know how his trembling

hands managed to remove her clothes and pile them up beside her, but they did.

Unbraiding her hair and fanning it over her bare shoulders, she laughed lightly. "I've never been quite so bold."

"I've never felt quite so timid. I wish you didn't have any experience at this."

She pressed on his shoulders until his back hit the quill "You're not competing with anyone tonight It's

only you and me." She skimmed her hand over the front of his trousers. "No ghosts from my past" She unbuttoned his trousers. He lifted his hips, and she deftly removed his remaining clothes.

Clay was breathing as though he'd just run to the top of a mountain, and she was sitting there as calm as

the dawn, trailing her fingers up and down his thigh, touching his knee and moving her fingers closer to his groin with each sweep. The woman was an expert at torture.

"Has any woman ever touched you?" she asked as she splayed her fingers over his thigh.

"No."

"Do you want a woman to touch you?"

"No."

She stilled, and Clay pushed himself up. He cradled her check in his palm. "I want you to touch me." He

kissed her deeply, with more urgency than he'd ever experienced. The curve of her breast brushed

against his chest, and he wanted to crush her against him, to feel her weight on top of him.

Her hand slowly caressed his upper thigh, circling higher. His breathing slopped altogether. Her fingers journeyed across his stomach, trailed along his other thigh, then cut across the pass, and stroked him with an intimacy that caused his body to buck with a series of nearly violent spasms. Lost in the fiery sensations, he buried his face in her hair until his body was replete, and his breathing slowed. "I'm sorry,"

he rasped.

Cradling his cheek, she moved his face away from her neck. "It's what I wanted."

Slowly as his senses returned, he realized that her other hand was still stroking him. If she'd been repulsed by his body's reaction to her touch, she had a strange way of showing it.

"I'm the one with the experience." She kissed him lightly. "If you've never been with a woman, I didn't

think you'd be able to hold out long. My body doesn't react quite as swiftly, so I was hoping to even us out."

"You might have warned me."

"That I'm a brazen hussy who enjoys a man's touch?"

"That you were gonna take me straight to heaven." He gave her what he hoped was a devilish grin. "Now it's my turn to take you to heaven."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't think you had any experience."

"I'm a fast learner."

"You might start by pretending you just finished carving me from stone. I love to watch your hands move

over the stone after you've carved it."

Using his fingers, he brushed her hair off her shoulders so her curves were a visible silhouette in the night.

Slowly, he skimmed his hands along her shoulders, down her side until he could feel the weight of her breasts nestled in his palms. "You're nothing like stone, Meg. Stone's harsh and rough. Countless times,

it's made my palms bleed. It's toughened my hands so I often forget there are soft things in this world.

You make me wish I'd never run my hands over stone, that I'd kept them soft for you."

"I've told you before that I like your hands. I like the way they feel on my skin. I feel like they're

whispering secrets."

He eased her down to the quilt. "Is there something special I should do?"

Meg studied the shadows of his face. Even in the dark, he appeared older than he was; even his

innocence had been tainted by the war. "Just touch me... with your hands... with your mouth... with your body."

He laid his body partially over hers. "I want you to enjoy being with me."

"Then kiss me."

He swooped his mouth down to cover hers. Meg welcomed him with a desperation that unsettled her. He swept his tongue inside her mouth as he brushed his thumb along the underside of her breast. She felt her breasts swell and the warmth travel through her body. Rolling slightly, she pressed up against his bare thigh.

He was incredibly solid, his muscles firm and tight. She tan her hands along his back and wondered how he could look so lean and be so strong. His touch contained a strength tempered with gentleness. He trailed his mouth along her throat and dipped his tongue into the hollow at its base. Then he moved lower and his tongue swirled around her nipple. The touch of his hand had hardened it, the promise of his mouth caused it to pucker. He closed his mouth around the tip and suckled gently. Moaning softly, Meg arched her back and turned into him.

"You taste good," he said without moving his mouth from her breast.

"So do you when you're not stingy with your mouth."

He chuckled and shifted his weight so he was nestled between her thighs. He trailed his mouth from one