Her lips tightened. "What did you expect?"

"I make it a point not to expect anything," he countered, regarding her with a weary contempt. "And what-ever you say, I know this isn't a friendly visit. So why don't you tell me what you really want?"

Caitlin drew in her breath. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." He loosened the top button of his grey silk shirt and pulled his tie away from his collar with a heavy hand. "I know it's not going to help to repeat the fact that I don't know who the hell she is. You were in a black mood before she phoned."

"I was not in a black mood," she contradicted him angrily. "You can't possibly know what kind of mood I was in when you slept until it was time to go down for supper. And this evening, you've done your best to humiliate me. Tell me, what did you think you were doing, holding hands with the pushy woman from the village?"

"We were not holding hands." He was annoyed now. "For Christ's sake, what was I supposed to do? The woman was coming on to me, dammit. You should get your facts straight before you start throwing accusations like that around."

"Coming on to you?" Caitlin was flushed. "I'm not surprised. After you'd spent practically the whole meal flirting with her. At least-" she paused "-until your- mistress-interrupted you."

"My mistress?" He frowned. "How do you know who she was? Did she tell you?"

"No." Caitlin had the grace to colour. "But who else would ring you here. My God, I don't know how she had the nerve to do it. You gave her the number, I suppose."

He shrugged. He could do without this, but it was obvious Caitlin was spoiling for a fight. "I must have, I suppose," he said wearily. "Do you have any proof to substantiate your claim?"

Caitlin gasped. "Why should I offer you proof? My God, you used to have the decency-or should I say the good sense?-to keep your conquests out of my father's house. If you expect me to tell you about the way you've humiliated me, forget it." She snorted. "I think you've lost your mind as well as your memory!"

He came up off the door with an aggressive lurch. "Take that back."

"No. Why should I?" Caitlin was unrepentant. "Why should I let you make a fool of me again? I have some rights, you know."

"And so do I," he snarled, coming to a halt in front of her. "I'll say it again. I don't know who the woman who called me is. You maintain that she's my mistress. But what I want to know is-how do you know?"

Caitlin's features froze. "I'd rather not discuss it."

"I'll bet you wouldn't. There are too many unanswered questions that you're desperate to avoid. If she is-was-my mistress, and the jury's still out on that one, then tell me why I needed another woman if I was happy with my wife?"

Caitlin turned her head away. "I don't know."

"Don't you?" He didn't believe her, but the effort of continuing the argument was sapping what little strength he had. "It couldn't be because my dear wife was looking somewhere else as well."

"No."

Her denial was almost believable, but it did nothing to reassure him. "Well," he said heavily, "I'm going to find out why, sweetheart. That's one thing about which you don't need to have any doubts."

Caitlin's lips twitched. "Don't call me sweetheart."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't like it."

"Like you don't like me?" he suggested. "Or like you don't like sex? Like you didn't like me touching you in the woods, when we both know that was a lie, as well?"

Caitlin caught her breath. "I've told you, I don't want to talk about-personal-things tonight." She fixed her gaze at some point beyond his shoulder, as if she was afraid to meet his gaze. "I'm sure you should sit down. You're swaying on your feet."

"Don't pretend you care." His voice was harsh and frustrated. "If it was left to you, I wouldn't be here at all."

"That's not true."

"So help me," he said heavily, leaning to rest his forearms on her shoulders. "If you really don't despise me, why don't you act like a wife for a change?"

His weight caused her shoulders to dip slightly, but it was his words that had caught her attention. "I am acting like a wife," she protested. "If I wasn't, I'd have thrown you out. Now why don't you sit down on the bed before we both end up on the floor?"

His lips twisted. "Y'know, that doesn't sound half bad," he told her huskily, and he saw the wary look that entered her eyes at his words. "But I agree with you, the bed does sound more inviting. Are you going to tuck me in?"

Caitlin would have pulled away then, but finding a strength he'd hardly known he possessed, he fastened his hands on the slim bones that had held his weight. Then, ignoring her resistance, he bent his head to hers, and his mouth found the sweet temptation of her lips.

Desire, hot and strong, revived his flailing senses. Like a man who'd lost all hope of redemption, he found a fiery sustenance in the kiss. Her mouth was soft and gentle, and hopelessly unprepared, but her response promised all the nourishment he craved.

Her bones felt so fragile beneath his hands, but when he gathered her close, her body possessed an unexpected strength. Her hands, caught between them, were balled like fists against his chest, and for all her mouth was vulnerable, she seemed determined to escape a closer embrace.

But the taste of her was heaven, and the feel of her slim body brushing his stirred him like no other woman could have done. He wanted her, he acknowledged; he wanted her so badly it almost hurt. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more.

She had kept her lips tightly clenched at first, but the necessity of breathing was her undoing. When her lips parted to gulp some air, his tongue brushed past her teeth, and his head swam with the honeyed taste of her hot mouth.

With a groan, his hands slid over her shoulders and down to the delicate hollow of her spine. The fabric of her dress was no softer than her skin beneath his caressing fingers, and her narrow hips shook slightly as he cupped her rounded bottom.

He was shaking, too, so badly that he was sure she must he able to feel it, but he was half-afraid he'd lose the initiative if he gave in. And the softness of her stomach, and the slender legs beneath her skirt, were a delight he'd waited for too long to share.

"Kiss me," he ordered thickly. "Kiss me, and then tell me we don't feel anything for one another any more." He caught her chin in one hand and tipped her face up to his. "Look at me, and deny you want this, too."

Caitlin tilted her head as if trying to remove her chin from his grasp, but the effort was too much for her, and her nervous gaze swept anxiously over his face. Her eyes were dark and troubled, but there was a certain softness in them, too, and her fingers stretched and flexed against his chest.

He could feel his own arousal pushing hard against her stomach, and he cursed himself for his obvious lack of control. It was not the way to play it; he didn't want her to think it was just sex. His feelings were much more complex than that.

But then, as if giving in to some need inside herself, he felt her hands sliding up his shirt. She looped a finger in the buttonhole he had unfastened earlier, and then reaching up, she brushed his mouth with her tongue.

It was sweet, and it was sensuous, and it almost brought him to his knees. When her small teeth bit his tongue, and her mouth shaped itself to his startled lips, he could only draw her closer, and he found to his delight that she no longer pulled away.

"Christ!"

His response now was swift and satisfying. As his mouth covered her face with hot, hungry kisses, his arousal found its home in the cradle of her hips. Feeling himself against her inspired an almost painful pleasure, and his need became an all-consuming flame.

For the moment, the weakness that had plagued him since the accident was forgotten. The weakness he was feeling at the moment could only be cured by burying his aching flesh inside her. With trembling fingers, he drew up her skirt and felt the brush of pure silk against his fingers. She was wearing stockings, not tights, and the sensation was unbelievable, as he curled his eager hand about her thigh.

But for all the urgency he was experiencing, he realised that if he didn't take the weight off his legs soon, he knew his knees would give out on him. There was only so much a man could stand, he thought dizzily, and kissing Caitlin was draining every ounce of strength he had.

All the same, he had no intention of letting her go. Somehow, some way, he was going to make it, and covering her mouth with his, he backed her towards the bed.

His head swam at the change of status. When he collapsed on top of Caitlin on the bed, the room spun sickeningly about him, and for a moment he thought he was going to black out. But he didn't. Within seconds, the room righted itself again, but now he had what felt like a blacksmith's hammer beating away inside his head.

He couldn't help it. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the groan he uttered was an unwilling admission of his feeble state. Like a beached whale, all he could do was roll off her, raising a hand to his head as he waited for the hammering to subside.

"Nathan?"

He'd half expected her to leave him; to scramble off the bed while she had the chance and make good her escape. After all, the situation hadn't been of her making, and after what had happened that afternoon, he had every reason to suppose she was already regretting what she'd done.

But she didn't do any of those things. Instead, she scrambled onto her knees and leant anxiously over him. He felt her hands, soft and deliciously cool, smoothing his damp forehead, and there was a genuine look of concern in her eyes.

"Nathan," she said again, "Nathan, what's wrong? Are you feeling ill? Do you need a doctor? Was it something I did?" She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Can I get you a drink?"

He tried a rueful grin and failed abysmally. Although the hammering in his head was beginning to ease, he still had a roiling sensation in his gut. It appeared all he'd achieved was a grimace, and she applied herself to pulling his tie free of his collar and loosening a couple more buttons on his shirt.

The cool air against his hot skin was revitalising, and he attempted to breathe deeply and slowly, as he seemed to remember hearing one should do in cases like this. But the awareness of her there beside him was a constant distraction, and for all he had made a complete fool of himself, he was glad she was there.

"I guess-I guess I'm not the stud I used to be," he declared at last, and then gave an inward groan at the recklessness of his words. The last thing he should be doing was reminding her of the way this had started. He closed his eyes against the censure he was sure he would see in hers.

But, whatever she had thought of his loose comment, Caitlin seemed indifferent to it. As he lay there, fighting his own demons, she continued to loosen his clothes. She unbuckled his belt, undid the waistband of his trousers, and tugged his shirt free of any constriction. She didn't touch his zip, but she didn't have to, he thought drily. If she continued to brush against his over-sensitised skin, his rapidly hardening erection would undo it for her.

Realising he had to say something, he opened his eyes and met her startled gaze. "What are you planning to do?" he inquired huskily. "I thought you had an aversion to my nudity."

"No-I..."

She moved her head in a nervous, awkward gesture. She was staring down at him now, as if she'd never seen him before. Even as he made his protest, the tips of her fingers drifted over his pectoral muscles, snagging the fine covering of dark hair that arrowed down to his navel and beyond.

"You're so brown," she said at last, as if that was any excuse for what she was doing to him. Already his flesh was responsive to every move she made. Only the fear of rekindling the pain in his head prevented him from doing some-thing about it. "I don't remember you being this brown before."

His stomach contracted. Now was not the time for her to start worrying about his identity. "Does it matter?" he asked, praying she wouldn't pull away.

"I don't suppose so," she answered, lifting her eyes to his almost defensively. "As a matter of fact, I like it. I just don't remember-noticing before."

God, did she know what she was doing to him? As he gazed into those shimmering depths, he hardly knew. But, as if realising she was being provocative, she did something about it. Pulling her hands away, she imprisoned them between her thighs.

His bruised senses stirred, and consigning his swimming brain to the hell it had put him through, he reached for her. And perhaps because he wasn't standing this time, his body didn't let him down. Even though he linked his hands behind her head before reversing their positions and imprisoning her beneath him, he only felt a trace of the imbalance that had troubled him before.

Desire, pure and simple, displaced all other emotions. And for all Caitlin had been startled by his sudden reaction, he saw a similar feeling mirrored in her eyes. Her arms, so doubtful in the beginning, now linked around his neck, and her fingers twined into the tumbled darkness of his hair.

And, oh, Lord! she felt so good beneath him. He could feel every sweet curve and angle against his skin. Her breasts, confined by the ivory silk of her bodice pushed against his chest, and he couldn't wait to feel her, flesh to flesh.

All the fantasies he'd had about her while he was lying in the hospital bed were no wilder than the reality. She was every bit as responsive as he'd dreamed she'd be. Her waist, her hips, her legs-every inch of her enchanted him. He wanted to tear the dress aside and see all of her for himself.

But he had to be gentle. Something told him that if he rushed this-rushed her-he was in danger of destroying everything he had. His body ached, it was true, and he was forced to suffer a painful anticipation. But it would all be worth it in the end.

So he kissed her and caressed her, allowing his tongue to ravish her mouth in a fair imitation of what he hoped to do to another part of her anatomy. But he had to steel himself not to grind his hips against her. Even if he knew it was the only way to ease his throbbing sex.

Taking his life into his own hands, he rolled onto his side, but once again, his balance didn't let him down. Then, with unsteady fingers, he eased her skirt up to her hips and explored the tempting flesh that he'd exposed.

Her response was unexpected. He'd been half-afraid she might object that he was moving too fast, but instead, she wriggled closer and attempted to release the zip that ran down the back of her dress. With exquisite pleasure, he did it for her and eased the dress down to her waist, discovering to his delight that she wasn't wearing a bra.

He already knew her breasts were round and slightly tilted, but the nipples had never looked so swollen before. The areolas were dark and throbbing against his palms, and he couldn't wait to taste the eager buds.

He managed to contain himself until he'd disposed of the dress, however, and then he bent his head and rolled one glorious nipple against his tongue. She caught her breath as he did so, emitting little sounds of pleasure, and he wondered how much more he could stand before seeking his own release.

He withdrew long enough to tear off his shirt and jacket, his eyes tortured by the sight of her long, sexy legs. The briefs she was wearing were made of lace, and they left little to the imagination, and unable to prevent himself, he hooked an unsteady finger under the hem.

Her legs clenched around him, and then steadied, and he wasn't surprised to find that she was wet. As her trembling knees parted, he tugged the briefs away and replaced his searching finger with his tongue.

She went wild then, arching up against him, clutching his shoulders and saying, "Yes, yes, yes," in a strangled voice. If he hadn't known better, he'd have said she'd never had an orgasm before, and her urgency was almost more than he could take.

He knew if he didn't get out of his trousers soon, he'd go mad, and he released the zip and pushed them down his legs. His boots proved a temporary barrier, but at last he managed to kick them off, and his trousers joined his jacket on the floor.

And it was so good to ease himself between her legs, to feel his arousal pulsating against her thigh. It took every ounce of will-power not to finish what he'd started, but he had no intention of hurrying something so unique.

He didn't attempt to remove her garterless stockings. He liked the way they drew attention to her legs. Besides, there was no doubt that as her only attire, they were infinitely sexy, even if he didn't need that kind of stimulation right now.

Her skin was so soft, so smooth; creamy white where his was brown; a perfect foil for the darkness of his flesh. He liked the fine distinction; he liked to see his hands on her. And he couldn't believe he'd given her up for someone else.

His own needs were becoming uncontrollable, and gliding over her body, he abandoned any thought of delaying any longer. He'd reached the limit of his endurance, and there was no doubt that she was ready for him, as she clutched his shoulders and brought his mouth to hers.

Nudging her legs wider, he rubbed his thumb against the swollen nub, and once again she arched against his hand. Dear God, she was so responsive, he thought as he eased himself inside her, and he groaned as he felt himself enfolded in her flesh.

Her intake of breath was barely audible. For one awful moment, he thought he'd hurt her, but although she sighed, it was not a sound of pain. But she was so tight around him, tight and slick and hot. It was as if some superior being had designed them to form two halves of a perfect whole.

She had been made for him; they had been made for each other, a concept, he realised, he'd never considered before. Well, not in living memory, he conceded, aware that this all felt new to him. She hadn't been a virgin, it was true, but he felt sure he must have neglected her in the past.

The idea was inconceivable; he couldn't understand it. Unless he had been impotent with her. Was that why he'd sought a mistress, if indeed that accusation was true? Was that the secret Caitlin had been trying to hide?

But if that had been true, it was true no longer. Indeed, it was an effort to control his raging needs. It was only his determination to make this the most memorable night of her life that was forcing him to steel his hormones now.

Her trembling sob was his undoing. "Oh, Nathan," she breathed, winding her arms about his neck. "Love me- please."

He needed no second bidding. The blood was already pounding through his veins, pooling in that throbbing place between his legs. It was magic, he thought dizzily, his senses reeling pleasurably this time. In shedding all her inhibitions, she'd truly become his wife.

He began to move, slowly at first, not trusting his own intoxicated senses, but even that small withdrawal brought a remonstrance from her. "Don't go," she begged urgently, and he cupped her small buttocks and brought her fully to him. "I won't, I promise," he answered thickly, before burying himself deeper than before.

His passion flared ever stronger, and with it came an awareness of how much he loved this woman he was holding in his arms. What might have begun as a reaction to the limits she'd put upon him, as a need to exert his rights as her husband, had blossomed into a complete submersion of his soul.

He must have loved her before. Dear God, he'd married her, hadn't he? He refused to consider any other reason why he might have done such a thing. Even if it was implicit in Matthew Webster's attitude that there'd been more to it than a love match, he was convinced that the attraction between them must have been there from the beginning. Yet, this feeling felt new-this sense of falling in love completely. She was his wife, his woman; and he was determined that this time he'd make her happy, no matter what.

Her slim hands were clutching him now, digging into his shoulders, her nails raking his flesh, as she sought her own release. He loved the feel of her hands on him, he loved the feel of her all around him, and he loved being so deep inside her, he felt as if he were touching her soul.

He was certain no other woman had ever made him feel like this. For all he had no reason for trusting his instincts, he was convinced that the pleasure he was experiencing was a first. But how could that be, when their marriage wasn't new? Oh, God, he didn't want to think of that now.

He wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted to share his charged emotions with her, and lifting his head, he looked into drowned indigo eyes. "I love you," he said simply.

"Whatever I've done in the past, you have to believe me. I may have hurt you before, but I'll never hurt you again."

Caitlin gazed at him tremulously. "Do-do you mean that?" she ventured, and he drew her hand down to where their bodies joined.

"Believe it," he said hoarsely. "This is our new beginning. And I'll never let you go again."

She cupped his face with her hands, and the touch of those soft fingers stroking the roughened skin of his jaw-line, brushing across his mouth, was more than he could stand.

"Oh, God," he groaned, feeling his body convulsing, and her choking cry sent him hurtling over the brink.