he fumbled for the pistol with shaking hands and for a frozen moment stared bemused at the glint of sunlight along the steel-blue barrel. What a strangely beautiful object, this instrument of death; it was so perfectly suited to its purpose. The only chance she had was to use it.

She held her breath, listening. When she heard a slight scraping below and to her left, she used both hands to pull the hammer back. She took two quick, deep breaths to steady herself, then she eased her head around the rock.

She saw him as he changed position, climbing to another section of rock. Her heart leaped and she fired wildly at him. The bullet chipped a little section of rock close to his head, sending the splinter flying. He dived for cover among the rocks, and she couldn't see him any longer, but she knew she hadn't hit him.

He would work his way in the direction from which the shot had been fired, and this time he knew she was armed. Victoria scrambled higher, scraping her palms on the hot rocks. A lizard stared at her with beady eyes, then darted into the protection of a cool, dark crack. She wished she could crawl in after it.

Maybe, while he was climbing up, she could work her way down. If she could sneak around him and get back down to the horses, she could take both of the horses and leave him stranded.

She sprawled out on her stomach and, keeping a weather eye on the rocks below her for any movement, began squirming backward. The rocks tore her skirt and scraped even more skin off her palms, but she barely noticed.

She thought she might make it. The horses were in sight and she was beginning to let herself hope. Then she heard the slight scrape from behind, her only warning before rough hands grabbed her around the waist and jerked her upright, startling her so much that she couldn't even scream. The man gripped her arm so roughly that her hand went numb, and he easily relieved her of the pistol. Despairing, Victoria stared up at the handkerchief-covered face of the man who was determined to kill her.

"You damn little fool," he said with quiet menace, tugging the handkerchief down around his neck. "Who are you trying harder to kill—me, yourself, or your horse?"

Victoria gaped up at him. The scorching sun was beating down on her bare head, and she thought perhaps she was hallucinating. But he was still holding her wrist painfully and his green eyes glittered at her from under the black brim of his hat. She hadn't thought she'd ever see those green eyes again… "Jake?" she whispered incredulously. "I didn't know it was you—I thought—I thought you were Sarratt."

His expression was shuttered as he looked down at her, and a long moment of silence stretched between them, so long that she felt a chill of apprehension. His eyes were grim and cold.

"I am," he said.

He dragged her down from the rocks. "Sit down, and don't move even an inch. I'm going to take care of the horses. If you move, you'll regret it." He spoke in a very even tone. She didn't doubt him.

She sat in the dust and watched as he unsaddled the horses, then walked both of them around for a while. The horse he'd been riding was unfamiliar to her, a detail that made her bite her lip. If he'd been riding his own horse, she would have recognized it. Would she have still run from him? If she hadn't, would it have been a mistake? He was Sarratt, he'd said, and she still didn't know what he wanted with her.

Gypsy was so tired she could barely walk. Jake—if that really was his first name—gave some of their precious water to the horses and tethered them where they could get at the few succulent plants that grew in the shade of the outcropping.

Victoria felt shattered, even more so than when Emma had told her he'd left. It was a curious difference, but then she had hurt from the loss, the betrayal of her trust. Now she was terrified that the betrayal went much deeper than that. It wasn't simply that he didn't return her regard, but that he might have used her in the broader scope of revenge. Had he simply been hoping to satisfy some of his thirst for vengeance by cuckolding the Major? What was he going to do with her now? She tried to think of what to say to him, but her mind was blank, perhaps blessedly so. All she could do was sit and watch.

Jake himself was so angry he could barely speak. Not only had she disobeyed his order to stay in the house, but she'd led the others into danger. She had run their horses into the ground and shot at him. That alone made him so angry he didn't want to approach her again until he was more in control of himself. She looked exhausted, and dazed. It was a while before he calmed down enough to walk over to her, canteen in hand. She had to be as thirsty as he was.

She didn't look up at his approach, even when he was standing right before her with his legs braced, dusty boots nudging hers. She braced herself, but nothing happened; he continued to loom silently over her, dominating her without saying a word.

Finally she broke the silence. "It was you who attacked the ranch last night, wasn't it?"

Jake opened the canteen and shoved it into her hands. "Yes. My brother and I brought our men in and took back the ranch." He paused, watching her carefully as he said, "McLain is dead."

Victoria failed to react in any way because she still felt so numb. She tipped the canteen back and drank. It was refreshing, even though the water was warm.

Jake took the canteen away and drank from it himself. He recapped it and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, watching her all the while. "I said, your husband is dead."

She didn't look at him. "I heard you."

"Don't you care?"

"I don't mourn him, but I can't—I can't be glad anyone is dead," she replied.

"Juana killed him. He'd raped her."

Victoria flinched, and wondered if she had just lied. Perhaps she was glad that the Major was dead. He'd been a vile man. Would any living punishment have been enough?

"Ben and I control the ranch now."

A ghost of interest stirred in her, and she lifted her head. She hadn't truly understood what he'd said before. "So yofcr brother survived, too," she said in a blank little voice. "I'm glad." She looked at the horses, a slight frown knitting her forehead, and asked the question she really didn't want to hear the answer to. "Where are the others?"

"I sent them after Emma and Celia."

"They—" She swallowed, and tried again. "They won't hurt them, will they?"

"Not if they don't try something stupid. Like shooting."

Victoria shivered, because Emma probably would shoot.

Jake rested his boot on the rock beside her and propped his arms on his raised knee. "Why'd you change horses with Celia?"

"Gypsy couldn't keep up. I thought Celia would have a better chance of getting away if she were riding Sophie."

He didn't say anything else, just stood there watching her. She looked at the ground; she felt so bleak inside it was almost unbearable. If anything happened to Emma or Celia, she would never forgive herself—assuming, of course, that Jake didn't kill her. But if he had been going to do so, she reasoned, he would already have done it.

She raised her head again. "What are you going to do with me?"

He smiled, not a particularly pleasant smile. Make love to you until neither of us can walk, he thought with a savage mixture of anger and need, born out of his worry and fear for her. The violent compulsion to mate was inborn, and he wouldn't be able to relax until she was well and truly his, until he felt her safe in his arms. For now, however, he still didn't dare touch her. Instead he said aloud, "Take you back to the ranch. After the horses rest."

She was afraid to ask any more questions.

There were four of them. Emma saw that much when she cast a desperate look over her shoulder. Celia was faring badly on Sophie. The horse seemed to be taking pity on her inept rider and was striding as smoothly as silk, but without reaching for the great depths of speed her steely muscles possessed. As a result, the four riders were rapidly gaining on them. Emma recognized her choices with agonized clarity. She could stay with Celia or she could save herself, but she couldn't do both. For Emma, there was really no choice involved. She held the gelding so that it matched strides with Sophie and awkwardly wrestled the rifle around. Riding sidesaddle wasn't the best position for firing a rifle and her first shot went wide.

Ben cursed and bent low over his horse's neck, asking the animal for more speed. It was tired, but with the other horses' hindquarters in sight it surged forward. Luis, beside him, did the same. Ben went for the wildcat who was shooting at them, Luis for the girl who was barely staying in the saddle.

It wasn't that easy. The dark-haired one shot again and this time the shot came uncomfortably close. The other girl somehow clung to the saddle and the big mare she was riding increased its speed. Ben angled his horse so that he came up on the right side of the one with the rifle, effectively taking himself out of her line of fire. His horse surged rhythmically beneath him, hooves pounding, lungs blowing; he pulled even with the gelding's hindquarters and his horse stretched out even more, driven by the need to get out in front. Inch by inch he drew even with the gelding.

From the corner of his eye Ben saw Luis reach out to grab the big mare's bridle. The little blonde screamed and began tearing at his hand, and the brunette tried to swing the rifle like a club, evidently not trusting her marksmanship enough to shoot with Luis so close to the girl.

Ben leaned out of the saddle and caught her around the waist, dragging her backward off of the horse as he reined in his own mount.

Emma arched and kicked, frantically trying to loosen his grip, but all she succeeded in doing was dropping the rifle. She reached backward, clawing for his face, his hair, any part of him that she could reach. Dangling in the air as she was, anchored only by his arm around her waist, she wasn't having much success, and in desperation she began hammering her heels against his leg and the horse's ribs. The animal snorted and plunged, and she heard the man curse as they both came off the horse, landing with a thump in the dust.

Emma kept kicking and tried to roll free. The man grabbed her foot and hauled her back, and when she kicked at him again he rolled on top of her, flattening her beneath his weight. He was cursing in a continuous if breathless stream, the words puffing out against her ear. He controlled her kicking legs with his muscled thighs and caught her flailing fists, then anchored her wrists to the ground above her head.

"Leave her alone! Get off of her!"

Ben lifted his head and saw the little blonde flying toward him, but Luis caught her from behind and held her, locking his hands around her wrists and then crossing his arms in front of her so that her arms were folded up and she couldn't twist or jerk free. Knowing that he didn't have to worry about her, Ben was free to give all of his attention to the squirming hellcat beneath him.

Emma rebelled completely against the heavy weight holding her down, arching and twisting, tossing her head in an effort to hit him in the face. She was too terrified to think straight, but she couldn't just surrender; it went against every instinct.

The man didn't try to hit her or hurt her in any way. He just held her and let her wear herself out struggling. But it had been a while since Ben had had a woman, and the soft, definitely female body squirming beneath him caught his attention. Blood pooled in his groin, and he began to swell and harden. Instinctively, he shifted his legs so that they were lying inside hers; when she arched again the movement thrust his erection solidly against her soft mound.

Emma shivered and went still, her brown eyes enormous in her pale, dusty face. She stared up at the hard face of the man lying on top of her, shocked at what she could feel happening to his body. She had never felt a man's weight before, and now that their battle had abruptly changed to a sexual one, she was frightened into stillness.

Though she knew there were others standing just a few feet away, in a strange way she felt they were utterly alone. She smelled his sweat, and his quick, hard breathing feathered her face. She knew hers must be doing the same thing to him, in a subtle exchange of their very breath.

She noticed his eyes were hazel, his eyelashes and brows black. He moved again in a slight shift of position that brought him even more snugly against her.

From a great distance she heard Celia sobbing. Emma rolled her head to the side, and the sight of the girl locked in another man's arms shattered the strange sensuality that had enthralled her. Hectic color rushed to her face.

"Please," she said in a stifled tone. "Let me up."

Ben propped up on an elbow, still keeping her arms pinned to the dirt with his other hand. "Am I going to have to wrestle you down again?" he panted.

"No."

He got to his feet and dragged her up until she was standing. Emma held out her arms, and with a small understanding smile Luis released Celia, who flew into her cousin's comforting embrace. The girl was terrified and sobbing in harsh, choking sounds.

Ben picked up his hat from the ground and slapped it against his pants, sending clouds of dust flying. He felt breathless, and though his erection had subsided there was still an uncomfortable tightness in his loins.

Emma stroked Celia's tangled hair and looked over her head at the men surrounding them. "What are you going to do with us?" she asked, instinctively looking at the man who had held her down as the leader.

"Take you back to the ranch," he said.

Emma ducked her head, hiding her alarm as she continued to soothe Celia. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse, but pride held her erect, unable to show weakness to an enemy.

Ben looked up at the sun, estimating the time. "We'll have to rest the horses for a while before we head back. We won't make it to the ranch tonight, but we should meet up with Jake on his way back with Mrs. McLain."

Emma's head jerked up. "Jake?" she asked, her heart beginning to pound. Had Jake Roper come to their aid after all? But she was afraid to hope, because Jake was such a common name. Until then Emma had been determined not to say anything about Victoria in the hope that she had gotten away.

"Jacob Sarratt," Ben said. "My brother. I'm Ben Sarratt."

She stared at him, white-faced, because Victoria had been right after all.

"The—the Major?"

Ben walked over to snare Sophie's reins and gave Emma a dismissive look over his shoulder. "Dead," he said.

It was late in the afternoon when they saw two riders approaching. Ben grunted in satisfaction, glad that Jake had recovered the missing widow without any trouble. His plan to get legal possession of the ranch by marrying her would have been worthless if he hadn't been able to find her. Ben watched them ride up, more than a little curious about this woman Jake was willing to marry.

Emma finally recognized Victoria and stumbled forward with a cry, but she froze in her tracks when she also recognized the man riding beside her cousin. She shot a disbelieving look at Ben, then another at Jake. Jake Roper was Jake Sarratt? Understanding dawned. My God, he'd been playing them all for fools from the beginning!

When they reined in at the camp Victoria didn't wait for anyone to help her down. Unhooking her leg from the pommel, she jumped and stumbled, but recovered herself before Jake could reach out to catch her.

"Emma? Celia?"

Hearing the hoarse anxiety, Emma hurried forward. "We're both all right. Celia's stiff and sore, but we haven't been hurt. Are—are you—"

"Tired," Victoria said, her shoulders slumping. She allowed herself the weakness only for a moment. Lifting her chin, she said, "I suppose you know?"

"About the Major? Yes."

"And about the Sarratts?" Victoria's face was expressionless.

"Yes."

There was nothing else to say. They were all safe, at least for the moment. What lay ahead, they couldn't even guess.

Victoria sat quietly with Emma beside her. One of the men—the one they called Wylie—began preparing the evening meal. Victoria stirred enough to offer their provisions.

Jake was ominously silent, and Ben watched Victoria closely. She didn't know that he was admiring her quiet, dignified manner and the look of pride on her dusty face. He was even admiring the fact that she was obviously the cause of Jake's black mood, because no woman before had ever been able to get past Jake's wall of reserve.

They ate at sunset and turned in shortly afterward. Victoria was too tired even to argue when Jake dumped his bedroll beside her blanket, though she did wonder what the men thought. She decided that she was too tired to care and, curling up on her side, was asleep before Jake got his boots off.

When they reached the hacienda the next day, Victoria still didn't know what Jake intended to do with them. If he'd been planning to kill them, surely he would have done it and left their bodies out in the rocks. Instead he'd brought them back, to Carmita, who came running from the hacienda with glad cries and outstretched arms.

There were signs of the recent battle everywhere, from the multitude of new faces to the chips in the adobe walls. Several windows had been broken and holes peppered the black wood of the front door. Still, there were some things that were unchanged. Carmita was still motherly in her concern, and Angelina Garcia still lounged around.

The women trooped tiredly upstairs, with Carmita fussing around them while Lola and Juana began heating the massive quantities of water needed for them all to have a bath. Celia could barely climb the stairs, she was so sore; they decided she should have the first bath for the relief the hot water would give her muscles. Carmita also addressed the problem with a liberal application of liniment, despite Celia's blushing reluctance to bare her legs and backside.

The house was teeming with activity, and if there was one thing Victoria knew how to do it was run a household. She seized on the work to keep herself from screaming out her fears and uncertainties, because she still didn't know what was going to happen and was afraid to ask. The Major's room had been cleaned out as if he'd never been; even the furniture had vanished.

It was disorienting to open the connecting door between their bedrooms and look at the emptiness of bare walls and floor. Her husband was unmourned, and every trace of him had also gone. It seemed as if no one wanted to say anything about it. She wondered if McLain had been shot down in that very room. She backed into her own room and quietly closed the door.

When it came time for her own bath, she locked both doors and lolled in the hot water for a long time, soaking out the grit that felt embedded in her skin. She washed her hair, sighing with relief at the sense of being clean again, and leisurely brushed it dry. Eventually, however, she ran out of excuses to linger and was forced to dress and go downstairs for dinner.

The meal was a strange affair. Celia ate in her room, and the four people who sat down at the table were all silent for their own reasons. Emma, usually as self-assured as a Mother Superior, was pale and looked only at Victoria the few times she raised her eyes from her plate. Jake wasn't scowling, but his expression was dark nonetheless. He and Ben made no effort at conversation, but ate steadily. Victoria's own stomach was knotted in a mass of nerves and she only tasted a few bites.

Immediately afterward, the two men went into the library and shut the door.

Once they were gone, Emma came to life. "I'm going to my room," she said with heartfelt relief. "I'll have to read a couple of hours before I get sleepy, but at least I'll be able to relax."

Victoria nodded, equally relieved. "That sounds like a very sensible plan. I have some mending to do that will take an hour or so."

Very much in accord, they ascended the stairs together. Victoria sewed on loose buttons and mended torn hems, the mundane chore giving her back a portion of her lost reality. Many things on the surface looked as they had before, but the content had changed. Uncertainty was nerve-racking, she decided as she bit off the thread the last time and packed her sewing box away. The Major and Garnet were both gone, but her life was even more tenuous than it had been before.

At least she felt calm enough to sleep. She lifted her skirt to remove her shoes and stockings, then walked barefoot to the dresser to take the pins from her hair.

Her arms were raised, removing the last pin, when the hallway door to her bedroom opened and Jake stepped inside. Victoria went white. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

For answer, he calmly turned the key in the lock and pocketed it. While she watched, horrified, he strolled to the connecting door and repeated the action. As casually as if he undressed in front of her every day, he then removed his boots and shirt. His naked torso was strongly muscled, with lean, hard bands delineating his ribs and stomach. She stared at him, mesmerized. A strange, warm sensation jolted her, and she jerked her gaze upward.

She stood frozen, her eyes huge as she searched his face. It was as expressionless as the day she'd met him, and she realized that this, then, was the final part of his revenge. She had been a complete fool about him; worse, even now she still loved him. It was a passion that twisted inside her, an ache intertwined with fear; she had never before known that a loved one could be simultaneously cherished and dreaded, but then she had never before loved someone who wanted only to wreak his vengeance on her.

"Come here," he said calmly.

Her heart thudded and for a moment pure fear pushed her to obey. Then her back stiffened and she put up her chin. "You think I should aid you in my violation? No. I will not."

He shrugged and a hard smile touched his lips. "It makes no difference to the outcome," he said, approaching to stand directly in front of her. "Neither will your next decision, but I'll give you a choice anyway. Take off your clothes, or I'll take them off for you, and I don't care about buttons or seams. It's your choice," he repeated, "but your clothes won't survive if I have to do it."

She looked directly up into his glittering green eyes, trying to read them, but his expression was closed to her. "Is there nothing I can say that will convince you to leave me alone?"

"No. I decided to have you practically from the first time I set eyes on you, and that hasn't changed. You can try to change my mind, though, if you insist."

She decided not to, because she was afraid she would descend to begging, and her desperate pride rebelled against that.

"You can even scream, if you want," he pointed out. "That won't do any good, either. It'll upset Emma and Celia, but they won't be able to help you. So what's your decision? Are you going to undress?" He lifted one brow at her, and hating her own cowardice, she lifted trembling hands to the buttons on her plain white shirtwaist. It seemed there was nothing else she could do.

She had never undressed in front of a man before, never dreamed that she would have to perform such an act. She unbuttoned the front, then fumbled with the buttons to the tight cuffs until he said impatiently, "Get it off."

The button at the waistband of her skirt eluded her, and with a muffled curse he pushed her hands away and unfastened the garment himself. It drooped around her hips, but was held up by the bulk of her petticoats. She removed the freed shirtwaist and dropped it on the chair.

"Now the skirt," he directed.

A fine shaking seized her legs as she lifted the skirt off over her head and placed it, too, on the chair. Now she stood before him in petticoats and shift, acutely aware of her bare shoulders and arms, and the fact that her nipples were visible through the soft, thin cotton.

He was only a foot away, so close she could feel the heat of his body. She tried to back away, but came up flush against the dresser.

His hard mouth twisted in wry acknowledgment of her action. "The petticoat," he prompted.

She untied the tapes and pulled the first one off over her head. He stared down in frustration at the almost identical garment that had been beneath the first. She hurried to release it, then closed her eyes in mortification as she let it drop to pool around her feet. Now she was clad in only drawers and shift, and hot color rushed into her pale face. Even on those two horrible nights when the Major had tried to consummate their marriage, he hadn't insisted on watching her remove her clothing. But this wasn't the Major, it was Jake. Paralyzed, she stared at his broad chest and naked, heavily muscled shoulders, the smooth skin gleaming in the mellow lamplight. Curly dark hair covered his chest, punctuated by two small, tight brown nipples. Oddly, she had never before thought about a man having nipples, and seeing his made her even more acutely aware of his half-naked state.

Jake stiffened against a surge of lust as he looked at her round breasts pushing against the thin cotton covering them. God, she was pretty, slim and ivory-skinned, delectably curved in all the right places. "Now the shift." The words were a little hoarse.

She turned white again and automatically crossed her arms over her chest. "No, I won't." But her voice shook, and Jake was almost at the limit of his control. He reached out and roughly jerked the garment up and over her head, forgetting about it even as he tossed it aside. His mind was on Victoria, on the pale, full globes of her breasts and the delicacy of her small, pinkish-brown nipples. He had wanted to punish her a little bit because of the worry and torment she had caused him by running off, but his patience and need for revenge had run out. More than anything, he now just wanted her naked and willing in his arms.

Victoria cringed as her breasts were bared. Not even the Major had ever insisted on seeing her naked bosom. She tried to cross her arms over her chest again, but Jake caught her wrists and held her arms down at her side as he leisurely looked her over.

"Don't hide from me." Heat was rising in him, swelling his loins with an intensity that made him shake, now that he was so close to having her. He'd never before known this kind of hunger, this overwhelming urge to have this particular woman and no other. "I'm going to see every inch of you before I'm finished."

"Why are you doing this to me?" she burst out, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them back, not wanting him to see her cry. "What have I done to you?"

"You've got it all wrong," he said, his voice even hoarser than before. "I'm not looking for punishment. I want you, and you want me. It's time we did something about it." He released one of her wrists and put his hand on her waist, smoothing his palm up her rib cage, savoring the softness of her skin under his fingers. "You're going to enjoy it as much as I do."

She stared incredulously at him. "You're mad!"

Her disbelieving outburst told him a lot. He smiled and slid both arms around her, pulling her tight against him. "You'll see, sweetheart. I'm not McLain. I'm going to love you until we both go crazy."

Out of the confused, combined vortex of fear, shock, embarrassment, and outrage, only one coherent protest formed, and the words were a moan of despair. "But you—you shouldn't see me like this!"

"Why not?" he murmured, bending his head to nuzzle her ear. "You're so pretty and soft. We're both going to be naked before too much longer, and if you like to look at me half as much as I like looking at you, we may never put on clothes again."

She trembled at the very idea of lying naked with him; the thought was so foreign to her upbringing that her mind felt numb, unable to form the picture. She was pathetically grateful that at least she was still wearing her drawers, though she was afraid the garment wouldn't remain on her much longer.

"Kiss me," he said in a cajoling tone, but she couldn't. He cupped her chin and turned her face up to him. "Kiss me," he said again, whispering, and covered her mouth with his.

Victoria hung in his brawny arms, her toes barely brushing the floor. His mouth smothered hers, and she felt dizzy. Despite herself, she had to cling to his heavy shoulders. The raspy sensation of his hairy chest against her sensitive nipples almost took her breath. When she gasped for air, his tongue moved into her mouth, taking the deeply intimate kiss from her, penetrating her in that small way to help prepare her for the other. Despite her fear, his taste was warmly familiar, the scent of his heated skin so exquisitely tantalizing that she wanted to turn her face into his shoulder and inhale it more deeply.

A warm, heavy feeling was growing in her body, making her feel drugged. She pulled her mouth away but her head fell back, exposing her throat to his mouth. "That's right, honey," he murmured, sliding one hand down to her bottom and lifting her against the hard bulge at his loins.

She gasped again and moaned an incoherent little protest. He couldn't be doing this to her, she couldn't be feeling this way, as if she wanted him to continue kissing her, as if she wanted him to do more. It was a strange, hot madness, that she should want him to do the very thing she had found so repulsive when the Major had tried it. Her shock at her own lack of propriety made her squirm, an action that tore a groan from deep down in his throat.

He held her to him with one arm around her bottom, and with his other hand he pulled at the tapes that tied her drawers at the waist. When they loosened he closed his fist in the soft material and tugged it downward, baring first her buttocks, then her mound and thighs. Victoria gave a strangled cry and arched against the steel band of his arm, but he merely tightened it and lifted her higher, so the drawers fell to her feet, and then to the floor.

He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. For the first time Victoria actively fought him, trying frantically to get away. She felt painfully exposed, so much at the mercy of his much greater strength and rampant sexuality that she lost control.

She kicked and hit at him, trying to pull free and throw herself off the bed. He subdued her easily, catching her hands and pinning them over her head, controlling her legs with his powerful ones.

"Easy now," he said soothingly, his breath warm against her face. "Don't be afraid, honey, you have no reason to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was low and reassuring, and he bent his head to brush his mouth across the tender joint of her neck and shoulder.

The hot touch of his mouth on her bare skin made her jump, and with an incoherent cry she strained upward again. He held her down, wondering why she was so frightened. Surely she knew he wasn't going to hurt her. But maybe her experiences with the Major had been even more unpleasant than he'd thought, maybe she truly expected the worst of him. His body was screaming for him to take off his pants and enter her now, but relief wasn't all he wanted. Victoria was so much a lady, but she was also a woman of passion and he wanted her to give him that passion. He wanted her to cling to him, her body arching to receive him rather than trying to throw him off; he wanted to feel the soft internal clenching of her release.

"Victoria. Look at me, honey. Stop fighting and look at me."

"Get off of me," she cried in a stifled voice.

"No, I won't get off." He shifted control of her wrists to one hand, and with the other caught her chin and turned her head toward him. Her eyes were wet with tears, he saw, but she hadn't allowed them to fall. He kissed her temple in appreciation of her pride, then moved his lips to her cheek. "You don't have to be afraid," he repeated softly, and brushed a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"Don't do this, please don't do this to me." The words burst out, and she was dimly appalled to realize she was begging. She'd sworn she wouldn't do that, but the stark reality of being stripped naked had also stripped her of pride. She would grovel if it would stop him from hurting and humiliating her this way. "I'll leave, I promise I will. We'll leave in the morning if you want—"

"Now, why would I want that?" he murmured, the corners of his mouth kicking up in amusement. He leaned over her and lightly rubbed his chest against her nipples.

The contact, light as it was, rasped across her delicate flesh. She inhaled with a quick, shallow gasp, her concentration splintered. Her nipples were burning, tightening. He did it again, this time increasing the pressure a little, and the traitorous warmth in her began to blur the edges of her fear.

He kissed her, opening his mouth over hers. He probed her mouth with his tongue, kissing her in the slow, sure, purposeful manner of a man who knows he isn't going to stop at kisses. She made a muffled sound of protest but he kept on until her lips softened, until he felt some of the tension ease out of her muscles and she began to respond to him.

She didn't want to respond; she tried to fight it, only to find herself undermined by her own emotions. When everything was said and done, she loved him. Even knowing he didn't love her, that his taking of her was part of his hatred for the Major, she couldn't stop the warm tide of feeling when he touched her. She couldn't stop herself from welcoming his small invasion with her own tongue and drawing his taste deep inside.

He stroked his hand in one slow motion from her chin to her throat, and downward to cover her breast. She jerked in shock, alarmed by the first feel of a man's hand on her bare breast. His palm burned her, and the tightening sensation in her breasts intensified. He gently kneaded, then rubbed his thumb around and over the nipple in a circular motion that made her moan aloud. She tried to jerk her mouth free of his, but Jake deepened the kiss, holding her while he transferred his attentions to her other breast.

She began to tremble, but no longer from fear.

He finally lifted his head and looked down at the soft, pale mounds of her breasts, at the tightly beaded nipples. His sinewy, darkly tanned fingers were a rough contrast against her delicate skin. "You're so damn pretty," he said, and bent his head to her breasts.

His mouth closed hotly over her nipple. Victoria cried out, the sound strangled in her throat. Pure sensation jolted her and she arched again, but was still held pinned by his controlling hand and legs. She had never imagined he would use his mouth on her in that way, never anticipated the searing wet heat, or the prickling pressure as he sucked strongly, his cheeks flexing with the movement. His tongue flicked and rolled around her nipple, and she began burning, the heat twisting downward to pool between her legs. She whimpered, aware of the shameful undulation of her hips but unable to do anything to stop it.

"That's right, honey," he whispered. "Let me feel you move." He shifted his mouth to her other breast, awash in her taste, giddy with the sweet scent of her breasts and the feel of her nipples. She gave another little cry, the sound making him shiver with need.

He slid his hand down her belly and pushed it between her legs.

She jerked wildly, shock overcoming pleasure. "No," she cried, shaking. "Dear God, no!" Her hips bucked as she tried to dislodge him.

Jake caught her mouth with his, silencing her protest with long, deep kisses. She strained against him, but he kept kissing her until that storm of resistance, too, had passed. When she was limp and shaking, he lifted his mouth.

"You feel so good, sweetheart. Open your legs for me, let me touch you."

"No, it isn't right, you shouldn't do that—" She remembered the pain when the Major had shoved his fingers so roughly into her, and she shrank from the memory.

"Yes, it is right," he interrupted in a low, warm tone. His eyes were intensely green, burning, and—tender. "I want to touch you, I want to feel how soft and wet you are."

She shuddered. "You won't hurt me?" She wanted his touch. Her body was aching shamelessly for him, but the remembrance of her wedding night kept her from obeying.

His face tightened. "No, I won't hurt you," he promised, and wished bitterly that McLain could come back to life so he could kill him again for daring to hurt this woman. "Open your legs, Victoria."

She did, finally, her thighs relaxing enough to allow him to move his fingers. He did so gently, parting the lips of her sex and opening her to his caresses. Victoria shuddered again, acutely aware of the embarrassing moistness she knew he could feel as he lightly stroked her. But this wasn't like what the Major had done, she thought dazedly. He wasn't hurting her; he was rubbing her, exploring the sensitive folds with tender fingers, and he was breathing hard as if touching her there excited him beyond bearing.

"You're going to like this," he said, and brushed his thumb across the small nub at the top of her sex. An exquisite pleasure, so intense it was almost painful, shot through her body. She moaned, unaware that her legs opened wider as she arched against his hand.

He continued using his thumb, drinking in the small sounds she made, loving the way her hips were moving. The scent of her body was hotter, more intoxicating. There was fever in her now, the fever he had craved from the time he had met her, burning high to match his. Soon, very soon, she would be his. She was wet, he thought wet enough, but to make certain he slowly slipped one finger inside her.

Victoria stiffened when she felt her body penetrated, dazedly bracing herself for the pain, but instead the heavy, burning ache inside her intensified. No, it wasn't an ache, it was intolerable pleasure. She didn't know, didn't care. Her entire body was throbbing. She turned her head against his shoulder as he began moving his finger in and out, the motion enticing her hips into an undulating movement she couldn't control.

Jake groaned aloud. She was so small and tight he knew he'd have difficulty entering her, no matter how ready she was. She was so wet, trembling on the verge of satisfaction, that there was no point in delaying any longer.

Now, finally, he released her hands, but Victoria didn't think of fighting. It was too late for that. Fire was burning through her, her breasts were aching and there was a deep throb between her legs that she didn't know how to handle. Her body felt heavy and limp, curiously disobedient. She watched him without comprehension as he got up and stood beside the bed, his hands working at his waistline. Only gradually did she understand that he was unbuttoning his pants, and then only a fraction of a second before he pushed them down and off.

The lamplight was too bright to be merciful. A return to fear jolted her from her sensual daze, and she rose up on one elbow with one hand lifted as if to ward him off. He was plainly revealed, his strongly muscled body nude, his thick erection rising from the dark curls at his groin. She stared at him in terror. The Major hadn't looked anything like that. There was no way she could accept him inside her, he was too big, he would tear her apart—

"No," she said hoarsely, belatedly trying to twist away.

Jake hauled her back and mounted her, prying her clenched thighs apart and settling himself between them. Fear exploded within her, out of control, as his rigid shaft probed at the soft folds between her legs.

"I can't," she moaned, thrashing her head from side to side. "Jake, please!"

"No, everything's all right," he soothed. "There won't be a problem, you'll see. It'll slide in so slick and easy you won't be hurt at all. Just relax, sweetheart."

He knew she must be terrified because of what the Major had done to her, but he also knew that because the Major had done it and he didn't now have to break her hymen, she wouldn't be forced to endure that pain. No, he intended to make certain that this time would be all pleasure for her.

He kissed her deeply, and in despair she felt the rise of heat in her again, and the coiling tension that only he could relieve. With a sob she admitted defeat and lifted her hips against him, silently asking for his penetration.

"Please," she whispered.

"All right, darling," he murmured against her throat.

There was no way she could relax, no way she could be casual about what was happening to her now. He was going to do what he wanted to her no matter what she did, but accepting the inevitable didn't help. She was swept along willy-nilly, with no control even over her own body, which begged for his conquest. Her breath burst out of her in a shuddering sigh as he let all of his weight down on her and reached down between her legs, holding her open with one hand while the other guided his manhood. She flinched as he made contact again, his flesh smooth and hot.

"Jake—"

"Easy, easy," he whispered, and nudged the broad tip into her, following with a steady, relentless pressure that forced him past the restrictive tightness of her opening. Victoria pushed convulsively at his waist in an effort to repel the burning invasion of her body.

Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, at last uncontrolled. He caught her hands and moved them, pinning them again to the pillow, then continued squeezing into her, inch by slow inch, until he was in her to the hilt.

"Oh, God," he groaned, fighting the waves of pleasure that swept over him. She was so tight that he almost couldn't bear it. To give himself time he held himself still, embedded deeply inside her, and began again the exquisite task of bringing her to pleasure.

"It's all right, sweetheart," he said, kissing her over and over. His penetration had been so difficult, he wondered for an instant about the Major. But he dismissed the thought; he hadn't felt the telltale resistance of delicate skin when he'd entered her. Still, she was crying and it wrenched at his guts. He wiped her tears away and began to slowly move his hips in the way that would bring her the ultimate ease.

She lay limply, her gaze fastened on his hard, intent face, accepting the penetration and retreat of his manhood in dazed muteness. When she had imagined this act of ultimate intimacy, she had thought of it in terms of pain and revulsion, unable to comprehend why men seemed to want it so. Now, as her breath caught, she began to understand what, beyond duty, prompted a woman to submit to the act. It wasn't submission as much as participation, although her body was only now beginning to learn that. The heavy thrust and drag of his maleness was bringing the heat within her to full flame again and concentrating it in her loins.

It began slowly because both her senses and flesh were still shocked by his invasion, but it was inexorable. The twinges of pleasure became sharper, and as her senses recovered they focused on her own body, bringing it alive in ways she had never anticipated. She smelled the clean sweat that made his body gleam, the musky maleness of his skin, even the new and exciting scents of their lovemaking. She felt his heat, enveloping her. She felt his hardness, the strength of his muscled arms enfolding her, the scrub-board flatness of his belly rubbing against her with each thrust, the powerful thighs that kept her own thighs parted, the hardness of his loins that pressed into her body with each recoil of his hips.

Her hands moved, slowly and without her awareness, to his shoulders; they were hot and smooth under her palms.

Her legs lifted and twined sensuously around his hips and thighs.

Her back arched, tilting her pelvis to receive him more fully.

And it grew in her, that heat.

Afterward, she never had any idea of how long they strained together, or when the heat shattered the last of her control. She clung to him, gasping at his strong hands on her breasts, crying out wordlessly when her hips lifted to meet him. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat; her hands clenched in it, holding him to her. He groaned, too, with the inward thrusts that were driving them into their frenzy. She was liquid fire in his arms; her body burned him, and enchanted him. He took the full measure of her response and gave her his, caught and shattered in a way he had never been before.

And the heat became too much.

She clawed at his back, crying again, frantic for release from the incredible tension in her body. She was shuddering, lifting, straining toward him. He drove into her with a heavy rhythm that rattled the bed on its frame. She moaned, knowing that if she didn't find relief, she would shatter, her heart would burst. And then she discovered that the shattering was the relief. Her loins clenched convulsively around his manhood, then her senses exploded in great waves that lifted her entire body off the bed.

He caught her hips and pushed deeper into her, thrusting hard. He went taut and reared back, his powerful body arching like a bow as his climax shook him. A hoarse cry burst from his throat and together they died the little death that was a death of self, and an exaltation of life.