"Shh."

Her breath wafted along his arm.

"If you ask me one more time if I'm sure, I won't be responsible for my

actions."

He set her down gently.

"I don't think either one of us is responsible right now."

He knew if he was thinking clearly, rationally, he wouldn't have

allowed things to go this far.

But he wasn't thinking clearly.

He wasn't really thinking at all.

Caitlin knelt on her bed, her arms still around his neck, her body

eager, primed, calling to his.

And her eyes said things to him that her mouth couldn't.

"Tlink again."

Her lips whispered along his, teasing, tantalizing, breaking his

stamina.

"Make love with me, Gray," she urged softly, like sin floating along his flesh.

She drew her arms away, giving him his freedom.

Holding him captive with her eyes.

"Make love with me the way you should have years ago. Love me,

Gray."

He knew if he did, if he truly let himself love her again, it would be his downfall.

And, very possibly, hers.

His eyes still on hers, Graham pulled the shirt off his body, tossing

it aside, then unbuckled his belt.

He moved as if he were in a dream.

Laying her hands over his, she stopped him before he could continue.

Her eyes remained on his.

Caitlin coaxed the hook free at the top of his gray trousers, then

slowly slid the zipper down with the tip of her forefinger.

Down the length of him.

She felt him shudder slightly beneath her hand and her smile ripened.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked hoarsely.

"Nowhere."

Her answer was honest.

"I'm self-taught. As of this moment."

Her words hardly registered in the haze of desire surrounding him.

Graham wanted to make love with her the way she deserved.

Gently, reverently, slowly.

But demands were slamming through him like the bubbles in a shaken

champagne bottle, begging for release.

Begging him to take her quickly before his body incinerated.

He'd never been ruled by passions before.

He'd always been clearheaded.

Yet passion held him prisoner now.

He felt weak as a baby, strong as the legendary gods.

- of his mother's religion.

He was everything.

Because he was with Caitlin.

Caitlin's hands were hot, fevered, as they,touched him, coaxing the

rest of the material from him until trousers and underwear slid the rest of the way down along his muscular legs.

And were discarded.

Graham stood before her, naked as the day he'd been born.

His body looked as if it had been carved out of stone, fashioned by a benevolent god.

Just for her.

He was magnificent.

And just for now, she thought, he was hers.

Her breath catching again, she slid her hands slowly along the outline

of his body as if she were molding him to an image in her mind. Graham caught her hands, afraid that if Caitlin continued to glide her fingers along him that way, he'd lose what little reason, what little restraint he still had left.

"Not too fast, Cait," he cautioned when she looked at him in surprise.

She wanted to smile, but couldn't.

"After eleven years, this isn't fast," she whispered.

But she let him still her hands.

Very carefully Graham began to raise the hem of her nightgown.

He teased it up along her body inch by fraction of an inch, as if this were some endurance test he'd set for himself, a test he had to pass in order to be at peace with himself.

He saw the desire flare in her eyes and knew it was mirrored within his soul.

Soon, Cait, soon.

His breath grew short, ragged, as he continued to raise her.

nightgown along her silken skin.

The throbbing, the wanting, increased.

Caitlin thought she would melt into a puddle, a hot, yearning puddle at his feet before he was finished.

Finally he raised the nightgown up and over her head and threw it aside.

Caitlin cleaved her body to his and then all restraint was gone.

Mouths sealed to one another, they fell back on her bed, a tangle of limbs.

A tangle of emotions and needs.