And, quite naturally, her embarra.s.sment dulled by brandy, her thoughts drifted back to what had happened at lunch. How silly, she thought now, that she'd wasted the entire afternoon wishing it hadn't happened. Truth was, she had loved every minute of it and wished she knew how to ask for more.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Miss Emma." Gage's voice was little more than a rough, low whisper.

Emma suddenly realized that her fingers had slipped between the snaps on his black shirt and were absently stroking the skin beneath. Instantly she grew still. Her wits were muddled by the brandy, but not so muddled that she didn't know what he meant. She had, however, lost her usual sense of caution.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was thinking about ... earlier." She shouldn't have admitted that, she thought hazily, and tomorrow she was going to be upset that she had, but now, at this moment, it felt like the right thing to do. This was right, she thought a little dizzily. Being close to Gage like this was the most natural thing she had ever felt.

"d.a.m.n it, Emma, why don't you try a little prevarication once in a while?"

"Why?" She raised her hazy green eyes to his darker gaze.

But Gage was beginning to feel as addled as she was-from her closeness, though, not the brandy. He had hardly touched the stuff, but now he wished he had drunk enough to dull his senses. "Did you like what we did earlier?"

"Oh, yesss..." The words escaped her on a tremulous sigh.

Oh, no. Gage looked into her upturned face, into her sleepy eyes, and felt everything inside him tense with an urge to pounce. Slowly his gaze drifted downward to her soft, sweet lips, lips that were already slightly parted, lips she now moistened with a maddeningly sensual sweep of the tip of her tongue.

The worst of it was, he thought, that she didn't have the faintest idea what she was doing to him. In her utter innocence she was absorbed by what she was feeling and totally oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking. It was the s.e.xiest d.a.m.n thing he'd ever seen in his life.

His whole body was pulsing in time to his arousal, and a devil whispered rationalizations into his inner ear. Just a kiss or two, the demon whispered. What harm was that? A couple of kisses, maybe a feel or two. She would enjoy it every bit as much as he would. He could make them both throb a little, ache a little, yearn a little, and then he could send her safely to bed, because he would be d.a.m.ned if he'd take advantage of a drunken virgin. He'd committed a lot of sins in his misspent life, but that was one he never wanted on his conscience.

But a kiss or two? She was asking and he was willing, and if he didn't let it go any further, what harm could there be? So easy, he thought, to sell his soul. Bending, he touched his lips to hers, felt the warm rush of her breath as she sighed her pleasure. That sigh nudged him even closer to the edge. Even the ever-present pain in his back and leg faded away before the uprush of aching pa.s.sion. He wanted this woman. He could never have her, had no right to ever take her, but he wanted her like h.e.l.l on fire.

"Emma ... oh, d.a.m.n, woman..." She felt so good in his arms, seemed to fit every angle and plane of his body as if she had been made for him. She filled a hole, made him feel like a man, made him feel like he had thought he would never feel again. Briefly, he rejoiced in life.

"Oh, Gage," she sighed shakily between kisses. "Oh, Gage..."

He ran his tongue along the smooth edges of her teeth, along the satiny, sensitive insides of her cheeks and lips. He felt her restless stirrings against him and suddenly lifted her so that she straddled his lap.

"Oh!" Startled, she opened her drowsy eyes and looked straight into his.

"It's okay, Emma," he whispered roughly. "We're just playing a little, remember?"

She nodded, hardly caring whether they were playing or deadly serious. Her knees were on either side of his narrow hips, making her acutely aware of how exposed her most private place was. And she was made even more restless by the growing ache that found nothing to answer it, and by the need to clamp her thighs together, a need he had completely stymied.

"Come closer, Red," he whispered, h.e.l.l's own archangel seducing her with coaxing words. "Come closer." His hands closed on her hips, pulling her down until her femininity rested squarely against his engorged manhood. "That's it," he whispered. "Closer, Em. Closer."

She came closer, needing it as much as he, and when his hands slipped behind her to cup the roundness of her bottom and press her into him, she could do nothing but moan in utter relief.

"That's good, isn't it?" he whispered right into her ear, causing a sinuous shiver to run all the way to her toes. Gently, he pressed her into him again. "So good... What a temptress you are, lady. That's it. Just press against me whenever you feel like it... Ah..."

Dimly, he realized he had gone far past the couple of kisses he had intended. And then he wondered what the h.e.l.l difference it made; he was already d.a.m.ned anyway. One more sin could hardly matter. When Emma rocked her hips against him again, slowly, deeply, catching her breath as she did so, he stopped thinking at all.

"Sit up, baby ... sit up for me."

When she straightened, she pressed herself even more tightly to him. The sensation caused her to draw a sharp breath of pleasure that almost distracted her from the popping sound as Gage ripped his shirt open. She recognized the sound, though, and opened her eyes just a little so she could look at him through her lashes. He was beautiful, she thought, so beautiful, like a dark angel. Archangel.

He took her hands from his shoulders and laid them on his naked chest. "Touch me, Emma," he demanded. "Touch me."

Without the least hesitation she began to knead his powerful chest muscles with gentle movements. "I like the way you feel," she murmured unsteadily. "Smooth and rough all at once..."

Her blouse was open almost before she realized what he was doing, and when she felt the warm brush of his fingers against the soft skin of her midriff, she merely sighed and looked down. Dark hands reached for the front fastening of her simple white bra, and the sight was so erotic that everything within her clenched sharply. "Gage..."

He heard the way her breath caught, and his own caught in response. "Has anyone ever touched your b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Emma? Or kissed them?"

She gave a jerky negative shake of her head and then, as the bra clasp released, closed her eyes against a shaft of feeling so strong she didn't think she could bear it. She knew people did such things, but for years she had refused to even think of them, because such thoughts always made her feel so achy and empty, so lonely and alone.

"Oh, Emma," Gage breathed huskily as he stared hungrily at the satiny globes he had just revealed. She was small but full, and her nipples were rosy and already erect. Gently, knowing the sensation would startle her, he reached up and touched her with a careful fingertip.

"Oh!" She jerked as feeling speared through her, and her eyes flew open. "Oh, Gage!"

"It's fantastic, isn't it?" Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her hips and ran his tongue slowly, enticingly, in a circle around her knotted nipple. "Mmm," he growled deeply as he felt shivers ripple through her. "It just gets better and better, Em. Better and better... Ahh, that's it. Rock against me, sweet. Just like that..."

Emma had long ago decided that lovemaking must feel good, but she had never dreamed it would feel like another plateau of existence altogether. She had never imagined that embarra.s.sment would vanish, and shame along with it. That she could actually clutch a man's head to her breast as she whimpered and rubbed against him.

Gently, with exquisite care, Gage drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked. Her response was instantaneous, a soft moan escaped her as she drew taut against him. G.o.d, he loved the way she responded. There was something to be said for inexperience, something to be said for the joy of wakening a woman who had no preconceptions or misconceptions.

His own body felt as if it were about to explode. The need was stronger in him than he could remember ever feeling, the urge to bury himself deeply in her welcoming heat almost enough to override his last scruple.

But not quite enough to override the last sc.r.a.p of his sense. He had no way to protect her from pregnancy. He had thought about going out that afternoon and buying some condoms, but he had talked himself out of it. As long as he couldn't risk impregnating her, he would retain some self-control. For her sake, far more than his own, he had resisted temptation.

Now, knowing he could not go any further than this without taking an unconscionable risk, he was able to batter down his desires just enough to maintain control. He would give her what she needed because he had aroused the pa.s.sion in her, but he would take nothing for himself but her pleasure. d.a.m.n, Dalton, he thought sarcastically, aren't we the n.o.ble one? Because he was enjoying this at least as much as Emma, even knowing how he was going to ache later, when he put her aside. He was enjoying every single little bit of this, reveling in sensations he had believed he would never feel again-feeling every one of them more intensely than he had ever dreamed possible.

He moved his mouth to Emma's other breast, teasing and tormenting her there with exquisite care until she was sobbing for breath and pressing herself against him in a relentless search for release.

"That's it, Em," he whispered encouragingly. Gripping her hips, he encouraged her movements against him. "Oh, that's good, Em. That's great. It feels so d.a.m.n good!"

"Gage?" His name was a frightened question, and she stiffened.

"Easy, babe. Easy. Let it happen ... oh, honey, it'll feel so good..." He moved her hips, forcing her to climb the last few terrifying steps to the pinnacle. "Come on, Em," he said roughly. "Come on ... just let it happen..."

"Gage!" It was a short, sharp cry as she arched one final time against him, then collapsed on his chest.

He held her, stroking her from head to hip, murmuring gently to her as he took an incredible, simple pleasure from holding her like this. It was even possible to ignore his own aching loins and the shaft of pain in his lower back in favor of the warm comfort of her skin against his. Such a precious feeling, he thought, the touch of skin on skin, her chest to his. So d.a.m.n precious.

"You're beautiful, Emma. Beautiful, warm and pa.s.sionate," he whispered as he held her. "I wouldn't have missed that for the world. Not for the world."

For a long, long time Emma lay drowsily in his arms, more replete than she had ever felt. His stroking hands on her back a.s.sured her of her welcome on his lap, and the contact of their bare chests was a warm intimacy that made her feel even more satisfied. But gradually she began to think again.

"Gage?"

"Hmm?" His hands never paused as he enjoyed the smooth line of her back and the warmth of her against his palms.

"That was the Big O, wasn't it?"

A soft, amused sound escaped him. "It sure looked like it."

"I don't think it could have been anything else. I never imagined it was like that."

"It's not the kind of thing anyone can really imagine." Wrapping his arms around her, he squeezed her. "Fantastic, isn't it?" He was feeling warm and generous and very saintly at the moment, he realized. Kind of a high for h.e.l.l's own archangel to be so selfless. He almost laughed aloud at himself.

"Mmm." She stirred a little and looked up at him. "But what about you?"

That was one question he'd been hoping she wouldn't ask. d.a.m.n Miss Emma and her honesty. "Don't worry about it, Red."

"But-"

He cut her off by placing his fingers against her lips. "Emma, don't. I don't have any way to protect you." As an excuse, it was one of the best. He somehow thought that if he tried to take the high moral ground on this one and claim he didn't want to take a virgin, she would try to talk him out of it. The pregnancy argument was one she couldn't counter.

"Protect me?" It didn't connect in her muzzy mind. "From what?"

"Pregnancy," he said, beginning to feel the early twinges of desperation. She was innocent, he reminded himself. Unaccustomed to thinking in such terms.

But suddenly she stiffened against him, and all the warm relaxation he had felt and enjoyed in her was gone.

"Emma? Emma, what's wrong? You can't honestly think I'd take a chance like that with you. You don't want to get pregnant-"

"I wish I could!" she said with sudden fierceness. Her hands turned into fists on his shoulders, and she sat up, struggling to escape from his lap.

"Emma?" He caught her by the waist and ignored her struggles to get away. "Emma, what do you mean?"

Tell him, commanded a voice in her head. Tell him now. He would go away then. He would go away before she started to care any more than she already did. Before it was too late for her heart and soul. And just as suddenly as she had gone wild, she grew utterly calm.

"I can't get pregnant," she said tonelessly. "The attack damaged me so badly that ... I'm barren."

His hands relaxed at her waist as shock ripped through him. Before he could absorb what she had said, before he could do anything at all, she twisted from his hold and fled.

Chapter 7.

Several times Gage came to her bedroom door and knocked. "Emma, talk to me. Call me names, tell me what a slug I am, but for G.o.d's sake, talk to me."

Each time Emma listened to him but felt no desire to answer. She lay on her back in the middle of the bed, staring up at the jewel-like colors the Tiffany lamp cast on the ceiling. Some pains ran so deep that they made you numb, she thought distantly. She felt numb right now. Numb to everything.

"Emma, come on. Open the door. I'll bring you some of that Earl Grey tea I found in the pantry. Emma?"

She ignored him, and after a while he went away again. She didn't think he'd given up, though. No, he would come back later and knock on the door. Maybe she should shout something at him, tell him to drop dead or get lost or something. He'd opened the wound. He'd awakened all the feelings she had learned to suppress. He had turned her into an aching, wanting, needing woman when she wasn't a woman at all anymore.

She wondered if she could stand it.

Gage stood staring at the closed door of Emma's bedroom and wondered why it always seemed to turn out this way. Karma. It had to be karma. There had to be some reason why everything he touched turned to ashes, why pain dogged his every step. He'd tried to make the woman feel good, truly good, and instead he'd managed to rip open her deepest wounds.

The door had a solid core, he realized as he stared at the dark, varnished surface. It was the good old-fashioned kind of door, not the thin, modern kind that he could put his fist through.

So he would just have to do something. No way was he going to leave Emma alone to sink into despair. d.a.m.ned if he could understand this hang-up women had with babies, anyway. He loved kids, sure. Had loved his-scratch that. Nothing wrong with kids, but he couldn't understand this insane pa.s.sion to have them. How could you love a kid you had never even held yet? How could you be so sure you'd want the little b.u.g.g.e.r before you knew whether he would even be tolerable? Women were in love with the idea of having kids, but as a man, he couldn't begin to understand it.

But he could understand that women felt that way, and he could understand that he had just stumbled on the reason why Emma avoided men. Now she was lying in there as raw as a gaping wound, and he'd done that to her. It didn't matter that he hadn't meant to. He'd done it. Now he had to figure out how to fix it.

No, not fix it. There was no fixing this one. But he couldn't leave her alone with it. n.o.body should be alone with that kind of pain.

But the solid oak door stood between them. So he'd pick the d.a.m.n lock.

Turning, he limped toward the stairway and then climbed the steps slowly, glad there was no one to see him. His back was kicking up pretty bad right now. Why the h.e.l.l hadn't he stayed in the apartment above Mahoney's? Then he could have limped down the stairs, had a couple of shots and gone for a long walk into oblivion. Instead, he was limping up these d.a.m.n stairs to get his case of lock picks and worrying about a woman who wouldn't even talk to him.

Yeah, it had to be karma. He must have sold his soul in another lifetime, too.

Forget the long walk, he thought when he reached the top of the stairs. Sweat beaded his brow, the cold sweat of pain. A long, hot bath would be the ticket right now. But no. He was going to climb down those stairs, paying for at least half his sins in the process, and then he was going to shake Miss Emmaline Conard until her teeth rattled.

And probably work up another twenty years of bad karma as a result.

He swore loudly, succinctly, and turned into his bedroom. The picks were in the bottom drawer of the dresser, of course. Under the jock strap he figured would cause any blushing old maid to slam the drawer shut before she looked any further. Not that Emma had pried, but when he'd first moved over here, he hadn't known her at all. She might have been inclined to snoop. Now he knew the thought would never even enter her head.

Unfortunately, now he had to bend to get to them. Holding his breath against the inevitable agony, he bent down to retrieve the small leather wallet. On the way back up, he groaned. He couldn't help it.

He must be out of his mind, he thought. Absolutely, positively out of his ever-loving mind. Why was he getting involved with this woman's problems? Sure, it was nice not to have to live with the noise and stale-beer smell above Mahoney's, but he'd come here for quiet, not an emotional marathon. He'd come here, too, because a woman had looked at him with frightened green eyes and told him that she would feel safer if he shared her house with her.

He'd almost lost sight of that. But maybe all her fears were related to her returning memories and not to anything real at all. The balloon thing was a typical juvenile stunt, and even the decapitated rabbit didn't go far beyond the pale. He could just imagine some smart-aleck sixteen-year-old boy bagging the rabbit with his shotgun and then getting the idea of scaring the old-maid librarian. It wasn't necessarily anything threatening at all.

But his instincts p.r.i.c.ked uneasily, and that business about the dagger in her dreams being like the one in the photograph ... well, it was too soon to dismiss Miss Emma's fears. He couldn't imagine any reason on earth why anyone should want to harm her, though. But then, a sicko never needed a reason.

Gritting his teeth, he limped back down the stairs. Maybe later he would break down and take one of his pain pills. He almost never took them, because he had a healthy fear of addiction, but it had been months since the last one. Maybe tonight he would give in.

Her bedroom lock was as old-fashioned as the door, with a big keyhole and a simple double-tumbler arrangement. He picked it without any difficulty at all- other than straightening from his squat. He groaned as he did so and shoved the door open.

"Get out of here, Gage," Emma said flatly. There was no expression in her voice at all, not even irritation.

"Don't think so, Miss Emma," he said just as flatly. He closed the door behind him and limped over to the bed. She was lying in the middle of it, staring at the ceiling, and she hadn't even bothered to fasten her clothing. Now, with him staring down at her, she seemed to be unaware that a tempting strip of satiny skin and the soft curve of one breast were visible. That troubled him. She should have clutched the edges of fabric together and glared at him.

He sighed and yanked open the snaps of his shirt. The sound of popping snaps drew her wary gaze to him. "Just don't want you to feel underdressed, ma'am," he said and threw his shirt aside.

Turning, he reached for the comforter at the foot of her bed and unfolded it, snapping it once sharply as he spread it over her. Then, pretending to ignore her, he sat on the edge of her bed and yanked at his boots. That drew another unwilling groan from him.

And then he nearly jumped out of his skin, because he felt the soft touch of warm fingers on his back.

"Your poor back," Emma whispered. "Your poor back."

"Everybody's got scars of one kind or another, Emma. You ought to know that by now."

"How it must have hurt.""Actually, it didn't hurt at all until a week later." He got his boot off, then turnedand slipped under the comforter beside her. Without a by-your-leave, he tuggedher into his arms and held her close, chest to chest, thigh to thigh.

"I'm sorry, Red," he said gruffly. "I sure as h.e.l.l didn't mean to hurt you."