ong after Jake had returned to work, he remained lost in thought. Victoria was his wife, but he couldn't say that she belonged to him. The knowledge ate at him. What was it that caused her to keep him that small, careful distance from her? Did she regret their marriage?

Her inner reserve hid secrets from him; he could sense their presence, even though he couldn't get inside her mind and read them. She was hiding something from him, and he was at a loss to know what it was. For the first time in his life a woman had gotten inside his emotional walls, stinging him to resentment by making him vulnerable, and doubling the resentment because he couldn't get to her as she had gotten to him. What was it? What was she hiding? Was it something about her marriage to the Major? Was there some lingering evidence of what he had done to her? It wasn't something she had done, he didn't think, but rather something that had happened to her.

The possibilities made him go cold. He was afraid to even ask her what was wrong, afraid he wouldn't be able to bear the answer. Every time he thought of her in the Major's bed he was filled with a bitter anger. He hadn't been able to bear seeing McLain's personal possessions and he'd had them all thrown out, but he couldn't throw out McLain's wife. She was his wife now—or was she? Was part of her mind still caught in a dark pit of memories? Was it more than that, something she couldn't deny or ignore?

There had been real fear in her eyes the first time he'd made love to her, but he brushed it aside thinking it was merely a result of the situation. He'd thought he'd won when she turned all sweet and hot in his arms. Surely she knew by now she had nothing to fear from him?

But it wasn't fear of him. It was something else, something that tormented her, and instead of coming to him for comfort she was locking it inside. Maybe she thought he wouldn't understand, maybe she thought he would blame her for whatever it was.

What had the Major done to her?

If he pushed her, she simply withdrew further. He had to teach her to trust him, and the only way to do that was to show her over and over how much he wanted her. As their intimacy deepened, so would her trust, and one day he would breach that wall in her mind. Whatever it was, he thought, he'd hold her and keep her safe and love her again. It wouldn't matter what it was, as long as he knew. He could fight dragons for her, but not ghosts.

Emma spent much of her time during those quiet summer days out riding. Their hasty flight had shown her how necessary it was to be in good physical shape in this country. Victoria rode out with her most days, and sometimes Celia would join them. On this particular day, however, she'd gone out alone because Celia had been off somewhere with her kitten and Victoria had been writing a difficult letter to her parents, informing them of McLain's death and her subsequent remarriage. They would be profoundly shocked no matter how she told them and she had been wrestling with it all morning.

Emma unsaddled her gelding. When she turned around to sling the saddle over the fence, she collided with a hard wall of flesh. She said, "Uummph!" and staggered back under the impact. Ben's hands shot out to break her fall. He steadied her, his hazel eyes intent as he looked her over. She was acutely aware of how disheveled she was; her hair was straggling down, she had gotten dirt on her white shirtwaist, and she suspected her face was dusty. A flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks.

Ben took the saddle from her hands and placed it on the rail. He took his time about it. She was usually so starched, but today she looked wonderfully tousled with her hair curling damply about her face. When he turned back to her she was still standing with her arms limp at her side, but now her face was tense. She felt it, too; he wished she didn't, because a one-sided attraction was much easier to resist than one that was mutual.

"Were you riding alone?" he finally asked, needing to break the silence between them.

She nodded. "I couldn't find Celia, and Victoria was busy."

"I don't like it. Don't do it again."

Another flush heated Emma's face, but this one was from anger. "You don't have the right to tell me what to do."

His brows drew together and he took a step closer. "Don't fight me," he said softly. "I said that for a reason. It's too dangerous for a woman alone, even when you're on our land."

She bit her lip, wishing her reactions weren't so swift and so close to the surface with him. "You're right, of course. I don't know why I snapped at you."

"Now you're lying, because we both know why." He reached out and trailed his finger across her collar-bone, the light, delicate touch making both of them shudder. "You can always change your mind, you know."

She swallowed, her pale throat working. "And then what?"

"Then we can stop avoiding each other. We have an itch we need to scratch because it isn't going to go away until we do. Then we can sleep at night, instead of lying awake."

Emma whirled, turning her back to him. "Thank you very much," she said in a stifled tone. "I don't think I should waste my time on a man who thinks I'm no more important than a mosquito bite."

Ben put his hands on her waist and carefully drew her back until she was pressed against him, fitting her bottom into the cradle of his thighs. He rubbed his hips against her in a slow, circular rhythm. "I've never wanted to do this to a mosquito," he murmured, and bent his head to kiss the side of her neck.

She shuddered, and her head fell back against his shoulder. Her hands reached back convulsively and clamped on his thighs. His hot mouth raised chills wherever it touched, chills that raced over her and caused her lower body to quicken. "Oh, God," she whispered in despair. How could it be like this?

Ben smoothed his hands up her front until they closed over her breasts. He groaned aloud feeling the way they filled his palms. He wanted her naked, he wanted to lie naked with her. His hands were almost rough as he turned her around, his mouth hard and hungry as it closed over hers. Emma arched into his embrace, her arms twining around his neck. She was burning up, and the only thing that could give her ease was his bare skin against hers. She was wanton and knew she should be ashamed, but she wasn't.

Ben dragged his mouth from hers and pressed it to her eyelids, cheeks, and mouth with quick, hard, desperate kisses. "Lie down with me," he coaxed in a ragged voice. "I need you bad, Emma girl."

She could barely think. She was dizzy, clinging to his broad shoulders because her legs felt so wobbly. Lie down with him. She wanted to, she needed to…

"Where?" she asked. Dimly she noticed that her voice sounded as drugged as she felt.

Ben shuddered, and he actually took a step to push her toward an empty stall before he realized he couldn't just tumble her in the hay, right here and now. It was broad daylight. Men were constantly coming and going in the barn; it was a miracle that someone hadn't already interrupted them. He sure as hell didn't want some cowhand gaping at Emma's smooth white body. She was his, and no one else was going to see her.

It took every ounce of his control to drag his hands away from her breasts and cup them around her face. He kissed her again, fiercely. "Come to my room tonight," he said.

Her big brown eyes were dazed, and she licked her lips as if tasting him. Anguish stole into her gaze, along with reality. "I can't," she whispered.

He ground his teeth together. She had to leave this second, or he'd forget what few good intentions he had. While he still could, he released her and sent her on her way with a small push. She went without looking back, stumbling a little as if her legs didn't work right. Ben leaned his head against the top rail of the stall, breathing hard. It was five minutes before he straightened and left the barn, his face taut and pale.

In the loft Celia rolled over onto her back and stared at the dust motes floating above her head. Her eyes were both troubled and curious. Ben had been doing some bad things to Emma, but she hadn't seemed to mind. He'd done the sort of things that Victoria had warned Celia that Garnet and the Major wanted to do to her; thinking of them touching her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. But watching Ben do them to Emma hadn't made her sick; she had felt funny, sort of shaky and excited. Emma hadn't looked sick, either.

Maybe those things were bad only when bad people did them. She felt confused, but was also aware of a calm certainty growing in her. What she had just seen hadn't been wrong. It was new and a bit frightening, but not wrong.

The kitten pounced on her stomach, and absently Celia rubbed its little body. She lay in the dusty loft, staring at the sunbeams, and took the first step into womanhood.

Luis found her late that afternoon over a mile from the house, sitting under a tree and teasing the kitten with a leaf. She looked up and smiled when he rode up, but didn't speak. He swung down from the horse and let the reins trail on the ground. "Your sister is looking for you," he said, sitting down beside her. "Why did you walk so far?"

"I didn't intend to. I was thinking and ended up here. But it's pretty and peaceful here, don't you think?"

Luis studied the endless land around them; it housed so many dangers he never thought of it as peaceful. It was wild, big, but never peaceful. At this moment, however, it was empty and clear of any visible dangers, so he said, "Yes."

Celia lifted the leaf over the kitten's head. It reared up and batted with its tiny paws. She seemed content just to sit and play with the kitten.

Luis said, "We need to go back."

She sighed. "I suppose so." But she didn't get up. She hesitated. "If I—Luis, will you tell me something?"

"If I can, chica."

She turned her head and looked at him. Her face was pale, her dark blue eyes grave. "What men do to women—is it always bad?"

At her words he felt breathless, as if someone had hit him in the stomach. He didn't want to talk about this with her. She was so beautiful. Until now her youth had protected her from him; he had thought of her essentially as a child, despite the ripe swelling of her body. The look in her eyes now, however, was not that of a child.

He inhaled, long and deep. "No," he murmured. "It's bad only if the woman doesn't want to do it, if the man forces her. If they're in love, then it's a beautiful, loving thing for them to do."

She nodded and turned her attention back to the kitten. It rolled onto its back, grabbing at the leaf with all four feet.

"And it makes babies," she said.

"Yes. Sometimes. Not every time."

"I've been afraid of it, afraid someone—a man—would try to do that to me. Garnet wanted to, and so did the Major. They tried to catch me alone, and the thought of them touching me made me sick." It was easier talking to him if she kept her eyes on the kitten. But she could feel his attention on her; it was like the intensity of sunshine. "I thought it was bad. But it was bad only because of them, wasn't it? It isn't bad by itself."

"That's right." His voice was very grave and gentle. "It's people who make it bad. It's like this gun I wear. By itself it's nothing. But when someone holds it, it can be good, it can protect, it can feed—or it can murder. What it does depends on the person who holds it."

The kitten had tired of the leaf and spied Luis's spurs. Flattening itself on its belly, it crept forward in a slow, comical stalking motion. When it was close enough it pounced, batting at the star and making it twirl.

"I don't know anything about men, about their bodies. It seems frightening because I don't know exactly what they look like, or how they do it."

Luis concentrated very hard on the kitten. He knew what she was going to say before she said it, but he prayed that she wouldn't, because he didn't know what he would do if she did—

"May I see you, please?" she whispered. "I want to know. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

His heart stopped, and he closed his eyes. "Chica, no."

"Why?" Then abruptly her face flushed and she turned away. "I thought—because we're friends—but it's bad, isn't it? What I asked of you."

"No, not bad," he croaked. He, who was always at ease with women, who always knew the right thing to say and how to touch them, was at a loss and shaking with tension. "It's just—chica, this thing that men and women do, this lovemaking—I would like to do it with you. You're very beautiful and sweet, and I want you very much. But you should learn these things with someone you love, not with—"

"But I want it to be you, Luis," she said softly. "You're beautiful, too, and you make me feel safe, and warm inside. I want to see you, and touch you, and learn how you're made."

He was simultaneously numb and in pain. She wasn't asking for sex, only for knowledge. She wanted to examine his body. He didn't know how he could say no, when he thought he would die for the pleasure of her hand on him.

He slowly unbuckled his gunbelt. The kitten played around his boots, but he no longer noticed it. Celia moved closer, until she was on her knees beside him. The afternoon sunlight dappled her face and hair, washing her in a golden light. He could barely breathe. Dimly he noticed that she was breathing in soft pants, too.

He unbuckled his other belt and began unfastening his pants. He didn't wear a full union suit, preferring two separate pieces so he could remove the top during the summer when it got hot. He thought of all the times he'd so casually undressed in front of a woman. This time his heart was pounding as he peeled his garments off his hips and down to his thighs.

A slight breeze wafted over his naked flesh. Celia's lips parted and an expression of wonder lit her face. Very gently she reached out and touched him with one finger.

His manhood began to stir. He'd prayed it wouldn't happen, knowing it would. Her warm little palm closed around him.

She gave a soft murmur of delight as he grew to full tumescence in her hand. "You're so beautiful," she said low. "I didn't know it would look like this, or feel so hard and soft all at the same time."

He closed his eyes, groaning with exquisite pain. "Celia, chica. You have to stop—now."

She didn't stop caressing him. "But I don't want to stop."

When his eyes flew open, she smiled at him, a warm, slow, very female smile. "I want to know everything, and I want you to teach me."

It was raining. Victoria thought the weather suited her mood, though she would have preferred the drama of thunder and lightning to this gray, steady drip, drip, drip. The night before, lying in Jake's arms, she had thought she would die from the sharp ecstasy, but today in the gray light she wondered how much more of herself she could lose before there was nothing left. She had been drowning, mindless with sensation and love, her last frail defenses wavering, when she had opened her eyes and seen him watching her with shrewd calculation. He had been gauging her response to him, deliberately taking her higher and higher while feeling none of the giddiness himself. It had been like a dash of cold water, and she had turned her face away from him.

She hadn't expected him to react with such violence, but he had jerked her head back around to face him. His eyes had been green with rage, his neck corded. But his rage had broken his control and he had begun driving into her, hammering his body into hers. Afterward, he had gripped her chin and said in a cold, hard voice, "Don't you ever turn away from me like that again." He forced her to lie close to him all night.

What was it he wanted of her? Why had he been watching her like that? Her lips trembled before she could control them.

He already had the ranch. As her husband, he legally owned everything that had once been hers. He had already deeded half of the land to Ben. She didn't resent him for that; the land was really theirs, after all. But what else did she have that he wanted? He didn't need her at all now; if he wanted to, he could easily be rid of her.

But she had also felt his passion; despite his roughness the night before, she'd felt it in him even then. He had been as much at the mercy of his body as she was to hers. If she truly believed that he could kill her after the nights she had spent in his arms, then she might as well put the gun in his hand because just the belief itself would be the death of her hope, her love. No, he wouldn't kill her. But neither did he love her, and that knowledge was behind all her fears and wild imaginings. Her body was safe with him; her heart was in mortal danger. It took all of her self-control to protect it and keep it hidden from him.

She sighed as she opened the door to Celia's bedroom, dragging her mind back to the matter at hand, which was finding her sister. She had had the embroidery hoop last, and Victoria couldn't find it.

It had been almost dark the day before when Luis had ridden up with Celia behind him. He'd found her under a tree over a mile away, he'd said, playing with the kitten. Now she had disappeared again, but surely she wasn't walking in the rain.

She went to the kitchen. "Has anyone seen Celia?"

Lola shook her head. Juana said, "I think she went to the barn. She took the kitten so he could play."

Victoria sighed. At least now she didn't have to worry about Celia's safety when she was out like that. She didn't want to find the embroidery hoop bad enough to get wet running down to the barn. She'd just keep looking for it in the house.

She began methodically searching every room and was on her hands and knees looking under the desk in the library when Jake came in. She glanced quickly away, feeling uneasy after the strange violence that had erupted between them.

He tossed his wet hat onto a chair and ran his hands through his hair. "What're you looking for?"

"The embroidery hoop."

"Under my desk?" he asked incredulously.

"Celia had it last."

He understood and reached out to help her as she got to her feet. Victoria would have drawn away, but his fingers tightened on her arm. He closed his hands on her waist to hold her. His voice was low. "Are you all right?"

She knew what he was asking and somberly studied him in the dim light. He smelled of fresh air and dampness, she noticed, but his body heat burned through his rain-spattered clothes. "A little sore, but that's all. You… didn't hurt me."

"I'm sorry. You made me angry and I lost control."

If it got much darker, they would need to light the lamps. The rain pattered on and cool air blew in through the open window. She could feel her own pulse beating through her body. "I'm fine," she whispered. "It doesn't matter."

He drew her forward just a fraction of an inch, but he'd been standing so close already that the movement brushed her breasts against his shirt. She slowly inhaled, feeling her breasts tighten and swell. "I'll make it up to you," he said against her temple.

Her throat was tight, and her eyelids heavy. "You know… you know that there's no need." She had climaxed before he had, and he had groaned aloud at her inner contractions. Even in anger, he had been able to make her respond to him.

He pressed his mouth against her temple, his lips hot on the delicate skin. He covered her breast with his hand. "I think there is."

Her hand was on his shoulder, his powerful muscles firm under her palm. Without thinking she flexed her fingers, her nails biting through the damp cloth of his shirt.

"Jake." Her voice was low. "We can't. The door—not here."

Slowly he released her, his green eyes glittering in the dim gray room. He stepped backward until he reached the door, and with careful restraint shut and locked it. Then he began unbuckling his gunbelt.

Her lower body felt heavy. She watched him disarm himself, then looked around at the library. There were chairs, very comfortable leather chairs, but no nice long sofa where they could lie down. She ought not to let him do this—a lady never would—but they were locked in a shadowy world, surrounded by the smell and sound of rain, and her body was quickening. He reached for her, his hands sliding up her back to clench in her hair, his mouth coming down over hers in a deep kiss that filled her with his breath and taste.

He lowered her to the floor, and she didn't even notice that the dark wood was hard against her back. She felt his hands opening the buttons of her dress and sliding it off her shoulders. The soft straps of her chemise followed. Her pale bare breasts felt the wash of cool air, then his wet mouth seared her nipple and she moaned.

"You taste sweet… and cool." He gave the heat of his mouth to her breast, and the nipple puckered against his tongue. He signed in deep, almost painful satisfaction, sucking in a rhythm that pinned the tight nub between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

Victoria moved beneath him, her legs shifting, her hips reaching for his. Her nails were digging into his shoulders, a primitive signal of passion that made his manhood surge against the restraint of his pants. He tugged at the buttons to free himself.

Her senses were so heightened that she could feel her own pulse as the warm blood pumped through her body. She smelled the hot musk of his arousal and shifted to aid him as he fought through the bunched layers of skirt and petticoats to find her legs. She wore the common, convenient open-crotch drawers, and his fingers went straight to the open seam, sliding into her soft folds. His touch burned like a brand, and she made an incoherent sound that could have been a plea.

He shifted his weight on top of her, opening her legs wider with his own thighs. The motion caught the fabric of her drawers and pulled them to the side, blocking his entry. He reached down, hooked his strong fingers in the opening, and ripped the garment from front to back. Victoria gasped, but didn't protest; she wanted him too much. She reached for him, needing the hot slide of his flesh into hers. She could feel him probing and lifted her hips in silent invitation, but he held back, cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face so he could look at her.

She knew that her soul was in her eyes, and desperately she closed them. It was the same act that had so enraged him the night before, but she couldn't help it. He would plainly see the aching tenderness of her heart, the silent yearning for more than he wanted to offer, and that was more than she could bear.

Jake looked down at her face, cameo pale in the gray, rain-washed light, and his chest tightened as he watched her close him out. Last night he had lashed out in anger, hurting her, but he wouldn't do that again. He murmured a soft reassurance, and slid his arms under her to protect her from the hard floor, as he slowly penetrated. The sensation made both of them catch their breaths, and against her will her eyes flew open.

His face was very close, his breath mingling with hers as he made a small movement that lodged him deeper. "All right?" he asked in a soft, guttural tone.

"Yes." The word was barely audible.

The reassurance was all he needed, and he pushed inward until she had accepted his full length. He watched every nuance of her expression, hungrily soaking in her response. Maybe she didn't trust him, but she wanted him. She was his wife; he was entitled to make love to her as often as he wished, strengthening the sensual bonds and seducing her into trust. Some day when he made love to her, he'd see only passion in her eyes, not the shadowed secrets that lurked there now.

He shuddered as a wave of pleasure washed through him. Not yet, God, not yet. He tightened his arms around her and rolled onto his back, taking her with him in a tangle of skirts and legs. She looked deliciously wanton with her breasts exposed and her dress rucked up to her waist, her eyes dazed with passion. He put his hands on her hips and guided her motion. He could feel her thighs trembling as they clasped his body, and she bit her lips to hold back a moan, lest anyone hear them.

The floor scrubbed at his shoulder blades, and would be doing the same thing to her knees. Her skirt and petticoats were bunched up, hindering her movement, blocking his view. Their big, comfortable bed upstairs was much better, but there was no way he could wait long enough now for them to get there. He lifted her off himself and got up.

"Jake!" She looked at him, her eyes dazed and bewildered.

"Easy, honey. I'll take care of you." He hoisted her onto the edge of the desk and pushed her skirts up again, then moved forward between her thighs. His entry this time was rougher, but she was ready for him and felt only relief.

His thrusts were harder and faster, his mouth hungry over hers. Victoria cried out, the sound muffled. He was burning her alive and she loved it, loved him. Her body was screaming for release. How swiftly she had changed from the prudish young woman who had been horrified when he had seen her bare breasts! Now she would guide his hands or mouth to her breasts when she needed his touch; now she no longer even thought of putting on a nightgown, but crawled naked into his arms. He no longer had to coax her body into surrendering to every new sensation; she was eager for the hot, blinding pleasure of his penetration.

"God… I wish… we were… naked," he said with clenched teeth, his shoulders rigid with tension. He was panting, the speed and rhythm of his strokes approaching frenzy. She cried out, convulsing, and again he caught the sound with his mouth, holding her as she heaved in his arms and her soft internal muscles milked at his erection. He soared to the edge, and held back only because he wanted to feel every one of those small contractions. Even then, the timing was so close that she had barely gone limp in his arms when his back arched and he shook violently, spewing his seed into her.

What had begun with slow, dreamy sensuality ended with raw lust, and he felt drained. But he wanted more. He always wanted more. He slumped over her, and began kissing her again.

She moaned, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. He was getting hard inside her again, and she didn't know if she could summon enough energy to respond. Every nerve was tingling, her heart pounding. How could he push her like this? Always before he'd held her in his arms and let her rest before taking her again. This time he wasn't even pausing.

He loomed over her, his hands curving under her arms and over her shoulders to keep her from sliding on the desktop. His hips hammered and recoiled and hammered again, his shaft reaching deep inside her to her womb. She stared up at him, glassy-eyed; his face was so hard and intent that he looked brutal. His eyes were narrow and molten, the color a deep, hot green. Sweat ran down his face and matted his hair.

The edges of reality blurred and swirled. She heard a high, keening sound and knew it was hers, and he'd made no effort to muffle it.

She was burning, her flesh damp in the cool room. Her body shuddered under the impact of his thrusts. She tried to struggle up, but he pinned her down with his powerful hands. Her inner tension was already unbearable and getting worse. She began to fight him, sobbing with frustration. He controlled her, pushing her higher, his attention focused on her so intently that he was aware of nothing else in the world.

"Tell me," he rasped, wanting those damned shadows out of her eyes, wanting nothing hidden between them.

She was drowning, losing herself. The gray mists were crowding in, her defenses crumbling. The final victory was his, after all. "I love you," she whispered, and a small part of her was stricken even as her flesh shuddered at the climax of pleasure.

Jake crouched over her in writhing orgasm, his mind shattering. She loved him? Elation swelled in him; until that moment he hadn't realized how much he had wanted, needed, for her to love him. But the secrets were still there, because even as she had said the words he'd seen the sadness in her eyes.

Victoria heard both the echo of what she'd said, and the silence of what he didn't say.