As they reached the highway, a blade of light thrown by the headlights of a pa.s.sing car slicked across his face, and another jolt of l.u.s.t shot through her. "I want to go back," she said, not meaning it.

He didn't reply. Courteous, accommodating Ryan Galantine ignored her, just as if she hadn't spoken.

They were heading toward the lake, but it was only March, and the season hadn't kicked in yet. She clasped her hands in her lap and waited to see what would happen. It felt odd to be so pa.s.sive.

He drove past the road that led to Amy and Clint's cottage, then pa.s.sed the entrance to Spruce Beach, where they all swam and picnicked. The bait shops were still closed for the winter. He ignored the boat launch and the Lakehouse. Ten minutes ticked by. They were approaching the less-populated southern side of the lake. She seldom came this far, but he seemed to know the road by heart.

She didn't see the narrow, unmarked lane until he'd begun to turn into it. She couldn't imagine where they were- Allister's Point. This was the place where the Seawillows used to go with their boyfriends during high school to drink beer and make out.

"Oh, my G.o.d," she whispered.

She'd driven out here by herself not long after she'd gotten her driver's license, just to see what it looked like, but she'd never been here with a boy. She could hardly breathe.

The lane ended at a small promontory, which was protected on three sides by trees, with the open end overlooking the lake. At some point, the county had thrown down a little gravel, but not much of it was left. He turned off the ignition. She swallowed and gazed straight ahead. Moonlight dripped down the center of the lake like spilled milk.

"I tripped the safety locks," he reminded her.

She licked her dry lips and looked over at him. "I'm gonna tell my mom."

"No, you won't," he replied, leaning back into the seat and regarding her with c.o.c.ky, half-lidded eyes. "She'll ask you what you were doing out here. How are you going to tell her you were lettin' Ryan Galantine feel you up?"

"Is that what I'm going to do?"

"I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?" He slipped his finger under the plunging stretchy black lace neckline. "Don't wear Sugar Beth's clothes again."

"You recognize this?"

"I'm not entirely un.o.bservant. I was hoping for your blue silk blouse, the one that matches your eyes. Or that pink yarn sweater you can see your bra through. Or maybe the yellow dress you wore the last time we went to Memphis. I like the way your legs look in it."

The fact that he'd ever noticed anything she wore left her speechless, let alone how her legs looked in her yellow dress. He slid his arm behind her shoulders, leaned forward, and gave her a deep soul kiss.

Everything inside her melted. A few weeks ago she'd felt as though she'd never experience desire again. Now, she wanted to rip off her clothes and attack him.

Always the aggressor. Never the pursued.

"Take me home," she said. "I'm not going all the way with you."

"No?" He trailed his index finger from the base of her throat to the black lace. "You really think you can stop me?"

Her short skirt had ridden up on her thighs, and she did nothing to pull it back down. "I could scream if I wanted to."

"Then I'll have to make sure you don't want to." He hooked his finger deeper under the lace neckline, picked up a bra strap, and drew them both down, exposing one breast. His hair brushed her cheek as he leaned forward and sank his teeth into a spot just above her nipple. She let out a tiny exclamation of pain. He sucked hard on the place he'd bitten and blew softly. "Tell me something, Winnie Davis. How are you going to explain that to your mamma?"

She was going to die right here, dissolve into a steaming pool of l.u.s.t. Her legs inched apart. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached; her panties were wet. "If you don't stop that..."

"Oh, I'm not gonna stop."

He began kissing her again. Not married kisses, but deep, sloppy make-out kisses with spit and tongue. Her panty hose disappeared. Her panties. He was sweating under his shirt. The windows had fogged up. He grabbed one of her ankles, propped her foot on the dashboard, pushed his finger inside her. She moaned. He dipped his head. Feasted on her. Sent her thundering to her o.r.g.a.s.m.

For a h.o.r.n.y teenage boy, he knew his way around a woman's body, and the second time he sent her crashing with the heel of his hand. When she recovered, she drew her foot down from the dashboard and gazed over at him. He was breathing hard.

And he didn't even have his pants unzipped.

She made no move to change that. Instead, she pulled her skirt down. What a b.i.t.c.h she was. A tease.

The door locks snapped open, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e. "Let's get some fresh air."

After what he'd just done for her-what she hadn't done for him-she should be agreeable. "It's too cold."

"You can have my sports coat. Believe me, I don't need it."

"I guess."

He leaned across her and pulled a flashlight from the glove compartment.

"You Boy Scouts," she said, doing her best to sound bored.

He climbed out. She had no panty hose, no panties. She slipped her bare feet into her shoes and waited like the good Southern girl she wasn't for him to open her door. As he did, she gazed directly at his bulging crotch. Poor baby.

He draped his jacket around her shoulders and took her arm. She was wearing heels and the ground was soft, so she balanced her weight on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet. He drew her toward the woods. She smelled pine and the dankness of the lake.

He switched on the flashlight and played it over the trunks of the trees. "It's around here somewhere."

Under her skirt, the cool air tickled her bare bottom. If she kept on like this, she'd develop a reputation. s.l.u.tty Winnie Davis.

"Wait here."

He moved off without her, flashlight in hand, inspecting the tree trunks like some h.o.r.n.y forest ranger. Finally, he found what he wanted. "Over here."

He'd stopped at the base of a big oak. She waddled over-high heels, short skirt, bare bottom, all-around bimbo.

He dropped the flashlight to his side, illuminating the toe of one of his loafers. "I don't see anything," she said.

He raised his arm and shined the light on the trunk in front of him.

She saw it then, the dim outline of a heart carved into the bark. The letters had grown gray and weathered by time, but they were still legible: She reached out and traced the R with her finger.

"We heard a rumor that these oaks could live for a thousand years," he said, "and we believed it. Sugar Beth said that as long as our initials were in this tree, we'd love each other forever."

"Forever's a long time."

"Not so long." He smiled and drew out his pocketknife. With the flashlight in one hand and his knife in the other, he chipped away the S and the B and incised a deep W in their place. Then he turned the C into a D. The crooked letters of her freshly carved name stood out in the old wood. What a goof he was. She no longer cared about the initials two teenagers had gouged in a tree sixteen years ago, but he did, and that was nice.

He slipped his knife back into his pocket and caressed her cheek. "I'm not sorry for all those ugly things I said to you last week. Not one of them is true anymore, but they were true once, and I'm glad I said them."

"You should have said them fourteen years ago."

"I was afraid. You always seemed so fragile."

"Not too fragile to figure out how to trap you. I didn't have much self-respect."

"We were kids."

"I was needy and desperate, not a nice thing to remember."

"I remember that you were the sweetest girl I'd ever known."

She turned her face into his hand and kissed the palm. "A woman shouldn't idolize the man she marries."

That made him smile. "We sure don't have that problem now." With no warning, he took her hands and said the most astonishing thing. "Winnie Davis, will you marry me? I'd get down on one knee, but I don't want you fussin' at me for getting mud on my good slacks."

She laughed. "You're proposing to me?"

"I am. Of my own free will."

Blossoms of happiness unfurled inside her, and her smile took over her face. "Do I have to give you an answer right now?"

"I'd appreciate it."

"You're just doing this so I'll let you go all the way, aren't you?"

"Partly. You set me on fire, love."

She laughed again, looped her arms around his neck, and the flashlight fell to the ground as she kissed him.

He slipped his hands under her skirt and cradled her bottom. "I love you, sweetheart. You're everything to me. Please tell me you believe that."

"Convince me."

"Can I convince you naked, or do I have to write a poem or something?"

"Naked will do for right now, but a poem would be nice in the future."

He laughed, let her go, and headed back to the car where he retrieved a blanket. As he returned to her, she said, "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Not like this. Not ever like this."

At that moment, standing in the damp leaves and matted pine needles with the smell of the lake in her nostrils, she felt the full force of his love for her. The elephant had disappeared; the ghosts had gone off to haunt someone else. They had a love that could be counted on. A love that wouldn't disappear at the sight of a less-than-perfect meal or fade away under the onslaught of a cranky mood. A love that could even handle a good fight.

She reached for the zipper of her skirt, then stopped. "Sometimes I don't feel like making love. Sometimes I just want to be by myself, to take a bath and read a magazine."

"All right." The corners of his mouth curled. "But please tell me this isn't one of those times."

She smiled and let her skirt fall.

"And if I do marry you, my lord? You'll let me go my own road? You'll not come near me unless I wish it? You'll not fly into rages with me, nor tyrannize over me?"

"I swear it," he said.

She came to him, her eyes full of tender laughter. "Oh, my love, I know you better than you know yourself!"

GEORGETTE HEYER, Devil's Cub.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Winnie waited until they reached town before she told him. "You're not going to like this."

"Honey, there's not a single thing you could say to me tonight that I wouldn't like."

"I can't go home with you yet."

He hit the brake. "Okay. You found the one thing."

"I know it sounds crazy, but I need to stay with Sugar Beth for a while longer."

"Crazy doesn't begin to describe it." He pulled to the side of the road, turned off the ignition, and draped his arm over the back of her seat. She extracted a leaf fragment from his hair, just above his temple. He kissed her fingers, but he didn't look happy. "Sugar Beth is poison, Winnie."

She trailed the backs of her fingers along his jaw. "She's changed."

"That's what everybody keeps saying, but I'm here to tell you that you're wrong."

She rested her head against his arm. "We fight all the time, and I've said more rotten things to her in two days than I've said to everyone else in a lifetime. But she's not going to be around much longer, and this may be the only chance I have to figure things out with her."

He ma.s.saged the back of her neck with his thumb. "Honey, she doesn't have your best interests at heart."

"That's not entirely true."

"Believe me, it is." He withdrew his arm, tapped the steering wheel. "I wasn't going to say anything about this, but...She came on to me last night."

She smiled. "I know. I was there."

"What?"

"Colin and I were standing on the stairs. We heard the whole thing. Sugar Beth set you up."

"You and Colin stood there and listened to her throw herself at me?"

"We were weak. And we had a vested interest in the outcome."