"I never knew..." she murmured against Ryan's throat, closing her eyes to exhaustion. "I never knew it could be like this."

It had never been like this for Ryan.

Conscious of the primitive need to take her again, he rolled her on top of him, desiring only to see her in the moonlight, her full breasts a silken invitation for his hands.

She made him swear and do things he'd never said or done around a woman.

They made love twice more that night, once on the floor in front of the fireplace, and again after they'd eaten a small meal in the kitchen, all with the same fierce mating that had driven them earlier.

It was long after midnight when Rachel turned in his arms and, smiling gently, closed her eyes. "I've never had such a memorable evening, Ryan."

The pads of his fingertips combed damp hair from her face, unprepared for the compliment or the playful tilt of her mouth. No one had ever thanked him for much of anything before. "I'm glad you were pleased."

She purred and nuzzled like a cat against his hand.

Ryan soon discovered that sleep eluded him.

It was the chaos of his emotions that rocked him. The fire in the other room had long since died from neglect. He disliked the darkness. He had never been comfortable with the darkness, for it equated to solitude, and he thought of his daughter's fear of the dark, wondering if he had not somehow imprinted his own fear of it there himself, with his insistence that a light remain on in her room. But tonight there was no light surrounding him. And tonight he no longer felt alone.

Moonlight angled across the bed, revealing Rachel's hand resting lightly on the pillow where he lay on his side watching her.

She had asked why they were compelled to do this.

When I find the answer, I'll let you know, he'd told her.

He knew the answer.

It lay between them like the moon-forced tide, impossible to contain or control, washing over them both. But like the tide, the undercurrent threatened to pull them out to sea.

Ryan only knew that he did not know how to navigate the waters he found himself swimming and still keep his head above water. For tonight had been a lie. While he attempted to gauge the more perceptible nuances between lust and whatever else he was feeling, he did know that one night with Rachel was not nearly enough.

Chapter 11.

"I don't imagine that I should mention that men don't like women to tell them what to do in bed," Ryan said, against her ear.

Smiling to herself, Rachel lay as if drugged on top of Ryan, her thighs wrapped snugly against his hips, her damp body glued to his. "I don't imagine that you'll mention that fact at all." She sighed against his chest. A downy white pillow cradled Ryan's head, pale against the darkness of his hair and the heavy shadow that had formed on his jaw. "Do you think anyone will miss us this morning?"

He turned with her onto her back. "How are you feeling?"

Contentment was too tame an emotion for what she felt when he pulled back to look down at her. "Ravished."

They both smiled at the same time, concurrently. How many times had she awakened last night to find him curled against her? His arm draped around her. To find that she was as eager to feel the pleasures of his body as he was to offer. The morning light defined his nearly black eyes under thick lashes as he continued to gaze down at her. "Why didn't you marry him?" Ryan asked. "The man before me."

Rachel held his unwavering gaze. Perhaps had he attempted to force the issue, she would have been able to turn away, a silently bald declaration of her reluctance to dredge up the past. She could never tell Ryan the truth. Not all of it anyway.

"He married someone else."

A small silence fell between them, and she felt him mentally step back from the topic. There was caution needed when walking on glass, and he recognized it, too.

"Do you still dress up in feathers and play opera diva in front of your mirror?"

She looked at him, appalled that he would know that about her.

"You'd be surprised what I remember about you," he said, as if reading her mind.

"Tell me," she said. "What do you remember?"

"That you jumped your first hurdle on horseback when you were ten on a horse that was too big for you.

You wept when that ridiculous goldfish I gave you died."

"I had that fish for a year."

"Your favorite flower is honeysuckle-"

"How do you know that?"

"You wore them at your first communion. While other girls wore wreaths of lilies, you wore honeysuckle

cultivated from your father's orangery. You were a lot of trouble even then. Independent thinking was never encouraged by the nuns."

Rachel looked into his dark fathomless eyes, struck anew by him.

"You like Emily Bronte and Sir Isaac Newton's Laws of Motion equally. You liked men in scarlet uniforms, too."

She disliked that he'd brought up any reference to his brother and told him so."Forgive me for ruining the moment."She didn't know if he was sorry or not. Maybe he had only wanted to get a response out of her. He brushed his lips against hers.

She came back for a second taste until only their breathing filled the awakening silence of the flowering dawn. Then his hand cupped her chin, and he kissed her deeply, delving his tongue inside her mouth. He consumed her with the same meticulous resolve he'd used to claim her memories. And blissful seconds

later, the hard length of his erection pressed against her hip, and then his hand was between her thighs, touching her swollen softness intimately, her state of arousal obvious.

Her eyes opened to his. Only inches apart, their breaths ragged, he spread her legs wider. He moved

three fingers within her body. The slickness of her body eased the passage, then something much bigger

and harder breached the passageway.

"Take me deep, Rachel." His voice was husky.

She wanted more.

She wanted this complete possession. She wanted to lose control.

His fingers sinking into her hair, Ryan rode her, their rasping bodies the only sound in the room, the rigid muscles of his arms taking each powerful stroke of his body until she helplessly closed her eyes, her perfectly guarded control lost.

The direct undisguised well of emotion held her within its palm and rocked her against the reality that he was not truly hers.

He drank her keening cry, taking her as a conqueror. In this arena as well as all others. It wasn't fair that he had the ability to disrupt her hard-won peace of mind.

For a long time afterward, weak in the turbulence of her climax-and his-she didn't move, as if she had the power to fight against the sure surrender to the dawn. When at last their eyes locked, she knew that they both lay in the same tenuous place. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder and, for just that moment, she let her heart go free.

It was the wrong thing to do.

"When we awaken, you and I need to talk about our agreement," he whispered, draping his arm over her waist. "I'm not letting you go."

Her eyes opened. She didn't want him to change their agreement. She didn't want to be his mistress or have some torrid, ugly affair that would ruin her memories of last night. She wasn't going to love him and watch him marry someone else.

Rachel listened to the growing noise of bird chatter in the trees outside. Listened as Ryan's breathing evened and slowed. After a while, she turned her head and chanced a glance at him. Bright early-morning sunlight spilled through the slatted window.

His hair brushed his nape, and, smoothing the lock from his forehead, Rachel remembered not too long ago when he wore his dark hair longer, the perfect image of a pirate, in his wilder, reckless days when defying conformity had been his measure of an erstwhile challenge. She had only to breathe to touch that flesh-and-blood memory now devoid of clothing.

Her impossible yearnings had begun to clash with her will.

Whatever the answer to her turmoil, she understood that their passionate interlude had to be over.

Restless to leave before he awakened, Rachel eased from beneath his arm. Her clothes lay all over the floor, testimony to the passion spent last night, and added a visual to the scent of sated lust on the sheets and between her legs. That Ryan now slept like the dead gave her a rare sense of triumph, especially since she could barely move.

She flinched as she eased her chemise over her head. Muscles she never imagined existed ached. Rachel gathered up her clothes and laid more peat on the fire to warm the room. When she straightened, she came face-to-face with his satchel. She had returned it to him earlier that week. It lay open beside a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a plate of cheese. Ore Industries papers were strewn over the table.

Caught by the sudden find, Rachel bent over to read. She couldn't tell if the papers had fallen out when the satchel tipped or if someone had thrown them against the table.

Curious, she thumbed through the loose sheaf of papers, slowing.

Her mind blank with shock, unable to comprehend what she was reading and why, her hand lifted the top sheet, confirming what her eyes were telling her.

Icy cold rushed over her skin.

Dated two weeks ago, the statement of intent had been written to Ryan. Ore Industries was acquiring Donally & Bailey.

Ryan wasn't just dismantling the Irish division, but the entire company-to dismember, dissect, and murder.

He had not offered to buy her shares out of some noblesse oblige or loyalty to her. He wanted her out to eliminate the obvious problem she posed. The Irish division was only the first of the collateral damage D&B would incur with such an acquisition. Her hands shaking, she flipped through each paper, shock rendering her incapable of thought.

Fury shimmered and grew.

She dropped the papers on the table, her first instinct to shake Ryan awake and demand an explanation. Or to smash the clock over his head.

But fury had faded to fear. Shock to dizziness.

Had Ryan told her this in the glade beside the river? Rachel fumbled with her dress as she desperately tried to reconstruct the scene in her mind. Tried to remember what he'd said. Had she misconstrued his statements when he told her she would listen to his terms? No, her mind cried out adamant that she had misconstrued nothing.

Nor was this the first time a man had taken her for a fool, she thought, stepping into her shoes. She'd worn no stockings last night and wasn't going to return to the bedroom to retrieve her drawers. Her hands shook.

For one night, she'd allowed herself to forget.

Ryan had whispered tangible words in her ear, palpable in their possessiveness, which had made her heart race and her senses swim. She'd moved with him and been a part of him. She'd stepped out of time and into something that had been truly beautiful.

An inescapable passion made worse by the realization that not everything between them had been a lie.

Ryan stood in the salon of the cottage reading the papers Rachel had thrown all over the floor, a frown deepening his thoughts. He swore. Someone was knocking on the door, he realized as he looked up, aware that he'd been hearing the pounding for some time. He shoved the papers into his satchel.

Ryan flung open the door. David stood on the doorstep. "Somehow I didn't expect to see you still abed."

"Surprise, surprise." Ryan surveyed his brother grimly. "My valet took the day off."

He wore no shirt. Without suspenders, his trousers hung low on his hips. In a dark mood, he glanced around his brother's tall form, didn't see David's Fenian henchmen, so decided the call was probably social-though Ryan doubted harmless.

"Would you care to come inside?" Turning in invitation, Ryan strode back to the wooden sink where he' d been washing earlier before he'd seen the papers strewn all over the floor in the salon. His travel clothes lay out on the table, brushed and ready to wear. "I'd offer you tea and crumpets, but my other servants are also on holiday."

David walked to the bedroom door and peered inside. "You had a restless night, I see."

Aware that his brother was prowling, Ryan swished the razor in the bowl of water and scraped an edge of bristles from beneath his chin.

"I just saw Rachel off to the train depot," David said, his footfall drawing nearer.

"Did you?" Ryan scraped soap from his face with careful strokes, wondering what Rachel might have told David concerning their relationship, knowing she probably despised him this morning.

"I had an emergency to attend or would have returned to see you sooner. As it is, circumstances have arisen, and I will not be around for a while after today."

That sounded cryptic enough that Ryan paused in his shaving. He remembered that David had been bothered by something yesterday afternoon when Ryan had seen him in the rectory. Some letter perhaps. "I hope everything is all right."

"One cannot predict the needs of others," David replied, cordial but distant.

"That must be difficult for you." Ryan's blunt gaze touched his brother's in the glass. "To be so omnipotent yet not clairvoyant."

"How is your chin?"

Ryan washed the last spots of soap from his face. After dabbing his jaw with the towel around his neck, he looked at himself in the glass. His damp hair lay in strands. A bruise was visible where David had hit him. The knot on his head hurt more, but Ryan hadn't really noted the soreness until then. Not while Rachel had been in his arms, and he'd had his mind and his body occupied.