Her color mounted, her chin went up, her eyes took on a somewhat shiny look. "No thank you, it looks sufficient."

"Sufficient? Greedy, aren't we?"

She opened her mouth, to argue he knew, and he waited with relish. Then she shut it abruptly.

"Where the hell were you, Grace? "

Her eyes glistened. "I was at the school. And frankly, sweetheart, I real y couldn't care who you spent last night with!" Her voice rose sharply.

His eyes narrowed. She was jealous, and for an instance that fleeting thought brought sweet triumph. "What were you doing at the school?" His tone had lowered, become dangerous.

"What do you think?" she snapped. "Sweeping the floors?" Her head lifted. "I've organized an informal class and-"

"You what?"

She stopped. "I've organized-"

"You're not teaching, Grace."

She stared. "You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm serious al right." He pushed himself off the wal . "Take off your clothes."

She blinked.

"Your time belongs to me," he warned. "Take off your clothes, Grace."

She was pale. "You can't mean it."

"Oh, I most certainly do." He waited. "Now."

Stil , she hesitated, her gaze wide and tremulous. Rathe suddenly hated himself. They both knew he was wielding his power over her purposeful y.

Her hands trembled as she touched the first button on her bodice, fingering it, her lips white. Rathe moved. He caught her hand in his, stopping it. She raised glazed eyes to his. "I can't."

"I know you can't," he cried. "I'm sorry, Grace..." He clenched her hand so tightly she made a sound of protest.

That little whimper was his undoing. He wrapped her in his arms. She was very stil and frozen, like a little, trapped bird, and he could feel her heart winging frantical y against his. His hold tightened. "I never want to hurt you," he gasped into her neck. "I only want to protect you."

Her stiff shoulders began to relax beneath his embrace.

"I only want to love you," he cried, rocking her. His mouth formed the words against her ivory cheek. "Let me love you, Grace. Let me."

He cupped her face. There were big glistening tears in her eyes, and they spil ed over. He caught one with his mouth, kissing it away. He looked into her eyes, captured her gaze, unwil ing to let it go. Her mouth was open, moist and trembling. He covered it with his. When her hands shyly touched his back, he felt a surge of elation and something else-emotion so vast he could not contain it.

"Grace," he choked, against her mouth. "I love you. Ah, I love you-let me love you."

In his hands she shuddered.

Kissing her wildly, holding her fiercely, he walked her backward, urging her to the bed. She fel back in his embrace, clinging, opening, gasping beneath his onslaught. His hands shook violently as he freed her hair. He lifted her skirts, stroking her legs through her cotton pantalets, his mouth on hers, soft then hard, hard then soft.

"Touch me, Grace," he cried, pushing her hands from his shoulder to his back. Pausing on his side, facing her, breathless, he watched her face as he moved her hand over his shirtfront. She gasped when he moved it into the opening of his shirt. He groaned.

She met his eyes, startled, lips open and wet.

"Don't stop," he begged, pressing her hand against his ribs. Then abruptly, he tore open his shirt, the buttons flying about them, baring his torso for her touch.

Her hand was smal and white on his bronzed skin, hovering uncertainly just below his chest. Rathe threw his head back, closed his eyes, panting.

"Please, Grace."

She didn't know what to do. Yet the feel of this man's powerful body beneath her soft palm was overwhelming and exciting. Daringly, she looked at him, not moving. His ribs were stretched taut beneath his skin, barely visible. His chest was rising and fal ing rapidly, covered with thick, dark hair. His nipples were smal and flat. She had the urge to touch one. Quickly, she looked away.

Her gaze met the ful , straining bulge of his doeskin breeches. Her mouth was very, very dry.

"Grace."

Her gaze shot to his and she reddened to have been caught staring.

"It's al right," he breathed. "I love looking at you, too."

Her mind was spinning out of control with forces and emotions that were too strong for her to resist. She moved her hand up, across the slab of one chest muscle. His hair caught in her fingers. His entire body tensed beneath her hand. He groaned, took her hand, and moved it up over his smal , tight nipple.

Her hand tightened. She couldn't breathe. Her body was throbbing shameful y, agonizingly, deliciously. Then he lifted his head to touch his tongue to her own nipple, mindless of the clothing covering it. Grace gasped when he tugged it into his mouth.

He pul ed her down beneath him.

They kissed, open and wet, teeth grating and tongues touching. Her bodice opened effortlessly beneath his skil ed fingertips, her breasts spil ing into his hands. She was aware of him pul ing down her drawers, and aware that she lifted her hips to help him. He thrust her skirts around her waist, stripped off his breeches. With a hoarse cry of joy he surged inside of her. Her hands found his broad back and held him closely. A part of her mind realized that her nails were digging into his flesh, that she must be hurting him, but she couldn't seem to stop. He was moving within her, slowly, beautiful y, with precise restraint. Then harder, faster, answering the unconscious urging of her body. A long, drawn sound came from her, a cry of peaking pleasure.

"Yes," Rathe gasped, "yes, darling, yes."

He lay and held Grace in his arms and knew, in a sudden revelation, like the striking of lightning, that life as he had known it was over forever. He knew, with utter clarity, that nothing would ever be the same again, that Grace had truly entered his life. It was chil ing and frightening and glorious al at once.

Grace shifted in his arms. "Don't move away," he said, stroking his hand down her arm, gazing at her intently.

Her eyes were wide and soft. Rathe knew an intense determination, then, to put the past behind them. It wouldn't be easy; he only had to lift his head to see five thousand dol ars strewn about the floor, evidence of the exact nature of their relationship, evidence of exactly what she wanted from him.

"There's five thousand dol ars on the floor," he said quietly, propping himself up.

She stiffened, nostrils flaring.

What would she say if I asked her to marry me again? He went red at that unwanted thought. She had rejected him once, firmly, and she would reject him again. "I'l open an account for you in the morning," he said, just as quietly. "From now on we won't ever discuss money again. Periodical y I'l put money in your account."

She stared, eyes wide.

He felt grim and sad and very needy, too. He slid his hand down her arm. "But I want to remind you of our agreement," he said.

Grace found her voice, although she was stil in a state of shock over the five thousand dol ars. "What?"

"You agreed to a ful year."

She sat up, pul ing the covers over her bosom. "Yes, I did."

"I want that to be clear." His gaze was so solemn. "A year from now we discuss our liaison. Not before, not unless I change my mind and decide to let you go sooner."

Change his mind...let her go sooner? Her heart seemed to ache. The words hurt terribly. What was happening to her? If only he would change his mind, the sooner the better! She nodded, forcing the tears to stay checked.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying."

He studied her, not understanding her, wishing he did. But she was an enigma. Had he just done or said something to upset her, or were these tears of regret? He took a deep breath. "That is the last time we discuss money," he reiterated firmly. He didn't want to make a fool of himself by repeating what he had said-that she could not run out on him. But there was an aching deep inside, an aching from fear: he'd paid her wel enough to know that if she weren't fair-minded, she'd be gone tomorrow. He slid off the bed and began gathering up the bil s.

Grace watched, clutching the sheets to her chest. How long, she wondered, did she have before he'd tire of her? Oh, she was ten times a fool! If she was smart she would just take the money and return to New York. She owed him nothing.

It was time to face an awful possibility.

She wasn't sure, if she had a choice, she would want to leave this man.

Her eyes widened. Her face froze. This could not be happening.

He finished, placing the money on the table, while Grace hastily checked her eyes for any traces of dampness. Her heart was thundering inside her. He turned and looked at her, slowly, thoughtful y, and Grace's entire being tightened. He was so beautiful, so powerful, and she knew now that she had always thought so.

"What is it?" he asked, sitting beside her and putting his arm around her.

She didn't like his sudden perceptiveness. She forced a smile. "Just tired."

His smile was nothing like hers-it was devastating. "We could always spend the afternoon napping."

She did not respond to his teasing. She couldn't. She could only think of one thing. She could not be fal ing in love with Rathe Bragg-absolutely not!

Chapter 21.

"What are you thinking about so seriously?" he asked, smiling.

"Nothing," she managed. She wasn't about to admit that she'd been entertaining the notion of being in love with him.

He was not, she reminded herself, the kind of man a woman like herself should ever entertain serious thoughts about.

Grace, he asked you to marry him, a voice inside her reminded.

Her resolution stiffened.

He's never asked another woman to marry him, not ever. You were the first , it continued. The first and only one!

Her fists tightened.

"What is it?" he asked, coming to her and kneeling, taking her hands in his.

Her heart began its insane beating. He was so close, even more beautiful at this distance. His gaze held hers. Then he lifted her to her feet and hugged her. She gasped at what rose between them-and felt triumph. See, he's only a rutting bul ; he only wants to bed you!

"I'm sorry." He laughed shakily. "But we've only been together twice and it's just not enough." He caught her face in his large, rough hands. "I want to make love to you al day and al night and maybe then I can behave normal y."

She blushed.

"But I'm afraid to hurt you," he said.

She stared. She crossed her arms, tightly. He was a cad-why wasn't he behaving like one now?

He smiled. "I wish you'd let me in there, Grace," he murmured, gently tapping her forehead.

She pretended not to know what he was referring to. She went to the mirror and began to brush her hair with long, brisk strokes. She could feel him watching, and when she looked at his reflection, their glances met. Her heart tightened again.

"We need to get you some clothes, Grace. I think Mrs. Garrot wil make time for us."

Her hand stil ed. "I don't need clothes."

He laughed, then wiped the humor from his countenance. "I'm sorry, Grace, but that was funny. You do need clothes-an entire wardrobe, in fact."

She clutched the brush. She imagined being paraded in front of Mrs. Garrot in her new role as mistress. She imagined being paraded in town for al to see in a mistress's flamboyant finery. "I don't need new clothes."

"You can't enjoy wearing those ra-dresses."

"What does enjoyment have to do with it?"

"Why not enjoy your clothes?"

She stared, imagining how he would dress her, in a whore's immodest finery, in taffeta and satins, imagining the scorn she would encounter from al who saw her. And then he was crossing the room with hard, deliberate strides. Her eyes widened. He took her shoulders and turned her back to the mirror. "Take a good look, Grace. Real y look."

She looked into the mirror-at him.

He made a sound of exasperation. "Not at me-at yourself."

Her gaze went to her own pale face.

His hands rubbed her lazily. "Look at how beautiful you are."

She started to protest, but he silenced her with a tightening of his grip. She stared at herself for another beat, trying to see what he did. She saw a woman in the prime of her life with the palest of skin. She had to admit her complexion was flawless. Her mouth seemed too ful for her face, swol en from his kisses. Her eyes were absolutely glowing. Her red hair was a disheveled disaster. She hadn't real y looked at herself in years. She had forgotten how pretty she was.

He nuzzled her ear. "I want you to see yourself the way I do," he said. "You're a gorgeous woman, Grace, but you do your damnedest to hide it."

He embraced her in a fierce, possessive hug. She watched their reflection in the mirror over the bureau. He felt so good. It was almost unbearable. He had closed his eyes, pressing the side of his face against hers, and for a moment she thought she saw the same agonized intensity on his face as she felt inside herself. But she knew she had to be mistaken as he straightened and met her gaze calmly in the mirror. "How long do you need to get ready?" he asked.