When next he straightened, his breathing was beyond ragged, his control badly frayed. He knew he had a question-it took a moment to recall what it was. With her on her knees before him, with his staff buried in her sweet heat, it was difficult to imagine anything else mattered.

But one thing did. Chest swelling, he set himself to take her up the last stretch of their road. Fingers tightening about her hips he looked down-and noticed a birthmark, just by his thumb on her right buttock-a strawberry mark in the shape of a butterfly in flight. The size of his thumbnail, the mark showed clearly against her pale skin.

Richard dragged in a deep breath; fingers sinking into her hips, he anchored her, and thrust deep. Again, and again-pushing her high, then higher swiftly taking her toward the shattering climax that he'd deliberately designed for her. On and on, higher and higher-she panted, then sobbed in her need.

He took her to the last but one step-

And withdrew from her, drawing her up against him, his hands full of her breasts, his throbbing erection riding between the globes of her bottom. He held her upright on her knees against him, and delicately kissed one ear.

The change was so swift Catriona could barely take it in, barely heard, over the desperate thudding of her heart, his gravelly whisper.

"Why do you want me inside you?"

She couldn't see his face, she was so heated and urgent and needy she couldn't think-yet she heard the warrior's demand in his voice; she answered truthfully.

"Because I need you " The words came out on a sob-a sob of pure need Raising one hand, she reached back and traced his lean cheek "Please, Richard. Now.

His face was beside hers; she heard a soft hiss, then a smothered curse.

Then he reached around her, grabbing first one pillow, then another piling them before her, even as his other hand pressed on her back and guided her down. Swiftly, he drew her knees back, and she was lying on her stomach, the piled pillows beneath her hips.

And he was behind her, between her spread thighs, his hips pressing against her bottom. Against skin flickering with heightened nerves, her inner thighs excruciatingly sensitive to the brush of his hair-dusted limbs.

With one thrust, he surged into her.

She screamed with sheer delight. Horrified, she grabbed handfuls of the twisted sheets and held them to her face. And heard him groan-braced above her, his hands planted on either side of her, he drew back, and surged deep-so deep-again.

In bliss-and knowing there was more to come-Catriona closed her eyes, buried her face in the bedclothes, and surrendered-her wits, her senses, her body-to the glory that beckoned. Surrendered to the desire to take him deep and love him, hold him tight and caress him.

He rode her hard, filling her completely, driving her on-straight over a precipice and into the sun.

She screamed as it shattered about her.

Eyes closed tight, braced above her, Richard drank in the lovely sound. Half muffled by the sheets, it was still pure magic; the sound of her ecstasy was pure ecstasy to him. Sunk to the hilt inside her, he held still, rigid, tense as a coiled spring, and savored her contractions, the rippling caress of her body as release swept through her.

He waited, not patiently, but with steely determination, until she eased beneath him, then, gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, grabbed two more pillows, lifted her, and raised her hips still higher.

So he could ride her on, up the next peak-the one she hadn't even guessed existed. When she realized it was there, she joined him-eagerly, wantonly-as focused as he. Heated once more, flushed, her skin dewed, she writhed beneath him, urging him on not with words but with deeds, with the flagrant encouragement of her lush body.

And when he sent her tumbling through the stars again, the effect was cataclysmic. He heard it in her unrestrained scream. The sound caught him up-tugged at his heart, his loins, his soul. Closing his eyes, he filled her completely and swiftly followed her beyond the end of the world.

Catriona awoke, disoriented, not entirely sure she was awake. Sweet peace held her, warmth surrounded her-she didn't want to move, to disturb the spell.

But presentiment nagged her-reluctantly, she lifted her lids. And looked into gloomy darkness. Blinking rapidly improved her vision marginally, enough to realize where she still was-where she shouldn't be.

In Richard's bed.

The warmth around her was him. The fact she could see at all warned her that deepest night had passed-morning was not far away.

Wielding a mental whip, she drew a shallow breath-all she could manage with his arm over her waist-and started the process of carefully untangling her limbs from his. This was the third morning she'd had to ease from his arms, but the task wasn't getting any easier with practice.

Eventually, she managed to slide from the bed. Quickly donning her robe, she fastened it, then swiftly straightened the sheet, settled the covers and silently plumped the pillow.

Pausing, she looked down at her companion of the night. He slept sprawled on his stomach, the arm and leg that had been thrown over her now relaxed on the bed. She studied his face, what she could see of it. The harsh planes had eased, but still retained their hardness, the promise of strength; his lashes lay, black crescents on his cheekbones, his lips still firm, purposeful. Even in repose, his face told her little-beyond the fact that here lay a warrior without a cause.

She had to leave him.

Drawing in a deep breath, she reached out to brush back the errant lock of hair that made a habit of falling over his forehead-and stopped herself. For one instant, her hand hovered over the neatened covers, then she sighed and, with a sad grimace, drew it back.

She couldn't risk waking him.

And she could sense the house stirring, tweenies waking in the attics, doors banging in the far distance.

Hugging her robe about her against the morning chill, she took one last, long look-at the husband she couldn't have-then slipped out through the bed curtains.

The instant the curtains closed, Richard opened his eyes. He listened-and heard the faintest of clicks as the door closed. For an instant, he simply stared at the closed curtains, at the empty space beside him, then he drew a huge breath and turned on his back crossing his arms behind his head, he stared at the canopy.

He still didn't have his answer-at least, not all of it. But he had learned something through the night. Whatever it was that drove his lust for her-she felt it, too. When they were together, her feelings for him were the counterpart of his feelings for her.

What his feelings for her were, however, was beyond his ability to describe. There was a sensual connection between them, something that invested their lovemaking with a deeper, stronger, more vibrant energy than the norm. He knew all about the norm-he'd had so many women, the difference was stark. Even in her innocence, she must be aware of it-that power that flared between them every time they touched, every time they kissed.

In his case, it was now with him constantly, ready to rear its head every time he set eyes on her. He was even, heaven help him, getting used to it. It had very quickly become a part of him.

Grimacing, he threw back the covers, sat up, and ran his hands over his face. He knew himself too well not to know, not to accept, that he wouldn't readily give it up-cut himself off from that power, from the addictive surge of possessiveness that swept him every time he saw her.

He still didn't know why she'd given herself to him. In the depths of the night, when they'd stirred and untangled their limbs, and she'd wordlessly slid into his arms, he hadn't had the heart to further interrogate her-he'd kissed her, soothed her into sleep, then tightened his arms about her and fallen into blissfully sated slumber himself.