breast to the other, then brushed it along her stomach as he sat back on his heels. Slowly, he glided his hands over her body. "You're perfect, Meg. Did you know that? If I was a real sculptor, I'd always use you as my model."

"You are a real sculptor."

"No, Meg. I dreamed of being a sculptor, thought I could be one, but I'm not. I've already made some mistakes on the monument. They're small, barely noticeable, but I know they exist. Thought you should know before we take (his any further."

"The monument has nothing to do with what's happening between us tonight. I love you, Clay."

His name whispered on her lips was something Clay'd yearned for as much as he'd yearned for her love, her touch, her eyes holding his as though she saw nothing about him to be ashamed of.

Sitting up, she palmed his cheek and whispered his name once more before kissing him tenderly.

He gave his heart into her keeping.

Meg kissed his cheek, his chin, the hollow at the base of his throat where she was certain the sweat gathered when he worked. Running her hands along his shoulders and arms, she eased back down to the quilt. "Come to me, Clay."

He laid his body over hers. Sliding her hand between their bodies, Meg opened herself to him and guided him home. He shuddered and stilled. "Oh, God, you feel good. I didn't expect you to feel like this." Braced on his elbows, he lowered his mouth to hers, accepting her offering.

Instinct took over and he rocked his hips against hers, slowly at first, timidly, until his confidence grew and they found their rhythm. No hair covered his chest, and his body rubbing over hers felt like silk upon silk.

Meg felt the warmth between her thighs kindle and ignite into a raging fire. Writhing beneath him, she met his thrusts and dug her fingers into his back.

Clay listened as her soft whimpers filled the night He'd never heard anything more beautiful in his life. She gasped, and he wanted to ask her what she needed from him. He increased the tempo of his thrusts and delved deeper. She arched her back and called his name to the heavens. It was all he needed to send him spiraling over the edge.

When the storm passed, he could still feel the slight pulsing of her body around his. He kissed her throat, her chin, her check, her lips, before burying his face in her hair. He tightened his hold on her. "I didn't think anyone would ever want me," he whispered.

She trailed her fingers along his back, over his shoulders, and took his face between her hands, turning it so their gazes could meet in the darkness.

"You were wrong."

Chapter Sixteen.

Standing by the wagon. Clay watched closely as the congregation poured out of the church. Meg's father and brother ambled toward their wagon.

Then he saw what he was waiting for Robert walked out of the church alone. His departure left only one person inside. Clay brought the brim of his hat low over his brow. "I'll be back in a minute," he threw over his shoulder to his brothers before he began walking back toward the church.

To his surprise, Meg had looked radiant playing the organ even though he hadn't taken her home until dawn. He'd yawned through most of the service and would have fallen asleep if it weren't for the fact that he would have been deprived of the pleasure of gazing upon her.

He tried to be discreet as he walked to the church, but the murmurs of people standing in the churchyard rose like locusts swooping down to devour the crops. Removing his hat, he walked through the open door into the sanctuary. The clapboard building echoed his hollow footsteps as he strode down the aisle. Stopping, he smiled as Meg walked toward him. "Morning."

Her step faltered, and she glanced quickly around the empty church.

"Thought I might escort you home or to Mama Warner's... wherever it is you're going."

She paled. "Please, don't talk to me here. We had an agreement to ignore each other in town."

She started to brush past him, and he grabbed her arm, spinning her around. "I thought what passed

between us last night sent that agreement to hell."

"My father will kill you if he sees you talking to me."

"I'm willing to risk it."

"I'm not."

"Get your hand off her, you yellow-bellied coward." The young male voice reverberated off the church

walls.

Clay glanced over Meg's shoulder to see her brother standing in the doorway, legs akimbo, hands balled into tight fists.

"Please," Meg whispered. "I don't want any trouble here."

He released his hold on her. As though she might say something further, she parted her lips slightly. Then

she walked out of the church.

"Touch her again, and I'll kill you," Daniel said.

Clay wondered if he should tell her brother that he'd be doing him a favor if he killed him... because his

heart had just died.

Darkness cloaked Meg. The night before she'd found comfort in it; now she felt as though she'd fallen into a well of loneliness.

She'd waited for hours by the swimming hole, but Clay hadn't come. She looked at his house. Everything

appeared serene. Surely if he'd been hurt or fallen ill, she would have seen some sign.

Running toward the side of the house where she knew his bedroom to be, she tripped and fell. Sitting up,

she rubbed her scraped shin. In the darkness, she could barely make out the shape of a rabbit with a solitary ear.

She scrambled to her feet and walked carefully through the stone graveyard until she reached the house.

A pale light spilled through the uneven cracks in the shutters. She tapped on the wood. "Clay?"

Pressing her ear to the shutter, she heard movement within the room. "Clay?"

Someone blocked the light escaping through the cracks. "Go home, Meg."

"I need to talk to you. Please let me in."

Opening the shutters, Clay was a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the lantern. "You said all that

needed to be said in church."

"Please let me explain."

Releasing a deep sigh, he pulled her through the window and closed the shutters. Leaning against the

wall, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Explain."

She brushed the dirt off her skirt and smoothed the stray strands of hair away from her face. "You didn't

meet me at the swimming hole."

"I didn't see any point in going."

"I know you're angry-"

"I'm not angry."

If he wasn't angry, he certainly did a good imitation. His voice was clipped and as hard as stone. She

wrung her hands together. "I love you. Clay."

"No, you don't."

Meg felt as though he'd just slapped her. "Yes, I do. When you leave this town, I'll go with you."

Narrowing his eyes, he studied her. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

"Will you give me children?"

"If I can. Kirk and I were never able to conceive, but if I can have children, I want to have yours."

"In this town that we move to, wherever it is, will you walk down the street with me?"

"Of course."

"Holding my hand?"

"Yes."

"And the hands of my children?"

"Yes."

He unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. She wanted to fling herself into his embrace, but

something hard in his eyes stopped her.

"And what happens, Mrs. Warner, when someone you know rides through town and points at me and

calls me a yellow-bellied coward? What will you do then? Will you let go of my hand and take my children to the other side of the street? Will you pretend that you haven't kissed me, that you haven't lain with me beneath the stars?" With disgust marring his features, he turned away. "You think I'm a coward. Go home."

"I don't think that. I love you."