She slapped him on his bare buttock before grabbing them hard and pulling him into her as far as he could go. She wanted him inside her, filling her, and the void that had resided within for so long. This man, this stubborn, know-it-all, good-ol' boy, too-good-looking-for-his-own-good man completed her in a way she had never felt before. Falling into his arms was like falling home, a return to a place held precious and dear.

No longer feeling the press of the stair digging into her back, she opened herself fully to his thrusts, feeling the heat building within her. He whispered her name into her ear, the very sound an intimate caress, and something inside her chest moved with joy.

The flames that licked at her groin grew stronger as he moved inside her, his rhythm matching hers. Her world seemed to fall off its axis, and only the solid feel of him under her hands held her in place.

Their skin stuck together where their bodies joined, slick with the sweat of their lovemaking. She let her head fall back, and she gazed up into his eyes and saw how easy it would be to never want another thing except this man.

His wanting of her filled his eyes, the most potent aphrodisiac she'd ever encountered, and it shredded the last of her restraint. She shouted his name, and he gasped with relief, filling her with his desire as her world spun out of control, and then brought her spiraling back down to earth like a wind-blown leaf.

She lay back, dazed and wondering what had just happened to her, to her soul. Pulling Sam down with her, she gazed out into the foyer. The moonlight spilled inside from the fanlight over the door, painting all with a blue-white light. She looked up at the shadows of the portraits on the wall, the pictures of all the Madisons who had walked up these very stairs for over a century. With a grimace, she buried her face into Sam's hard chest, hoping that Great-great-great-grandfather Madison wasn't watching.

Sixteen.

The hall clock struck loudly, chiming three times and waking her from a sound doze. She and Sam had moved up to the landing, where they now lay, their limbs entwined. She turned her head, seeking out his gaze, and was startled to find him propped on his elbow, staring down at her. He removed his hand from her hip and smoothed back her hair from her forehead.

"You're beautiful when you sleep."

"But not when I'm awake?"

He didn't pause. "No. Then you're just ornery."

She nipped at his shoulder, tasting his sweat. "This is my house, and if you're going to be mean to me, you'll have to leave."

He made a move to stand, but she pulled him back. "Don't you dare."

He kissed her hard, heating her blood. His lips hovered over hers as he spoke. "Do you think we should go somewhere else, or do you want to stay here and be Lucinda's greeting party?"

That jerked her to a sitting position. "Oh." She rubbed her neck. "I'm so stiff."

"Me, too." She looked past his mischievous smile in the moon-drenched foyer and saw that he was right.

Blushing like a young girl, she looked around at their scattered clothes. "Come on. I don't want to be lectured by Aunt Lucinda." She helped him up, and they collected the stray clothing.

Sam pulled on his pants, using the banister for balance. "I'm going to go move my truck to the back. Don't want to give you a fast reputation."

She leaned against the wall, clutching her clothing in front of her, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "Does this mean you're staying the night?"

He tipped an imaginary hat brim. "Yes, ma'am. A gentleman always stays the night." He kissed her, then trotted down the stairs, whistling quietly. She couldn't help but admire the backside of his retreating form and felt her insides melt to mush again.

When he returned, she was already in bed, the sheets pulled up under her arms. He stood on the threshold. "Can I come in? I don't want to be accused of running naked in church."

She snuggled down into the cool cotton. "I'm over it. Take those pants off and come on in before I jump you."

"Be still my heart." He shucked his jeans and took a flying leap onto the bed. She could feel his heat through the thin top sheet, but he made no move to join her underneath it.

The moonlight spilled through the open curtains, bathing them in its gentle light and making his eyes appear colorless. But the words written in them were as clear as if he spoke them aloud, and it frightened her to her core.

Shutting her eyes to block out the sight, she felt his lips on her neck, moving southward. He found her breast, and he teased the nipple through the soft cotton until it hardened, making her moan.

"Get under here. Now."

"I aim to please." With one flick of his arm, he pulled the sheet off the bed and threw it on the floor.

"I'm cold," she said, wondering if the goose bumps really were from the cool night air.

"Then let me warm you," he whispered over her open lips, covering her with his heat and obliterating all feelings except those produced by his expert hands on her body and by his endearments whispered in her ear.

Cassie awoke slowly in the early-morning light, tired from lack of sleep but her mind more at peace than it had been in years. The curtains puffed gently into the room, and she gave a languid stretch, feeling the warmth of Sam's body pressed against her back. She thought about all the mornings she had awakened with Andrew. She would be cold and lonely on her side of the bed, and he would be curled up on his, facing away from her.

She turned toward Sam and wasn't surprised this time to see dark blue eyes studying her intently. Her voice was thick. "Don't you ever sleep?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Only when I'm not otherwise occupied."

She placed the flat of her palm on his stubbled cheek, and he held it there. "I've never-" She stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say, of what she could say.

"I know," he whispered back. "I feel the same."

He kissed her softly, his lips warm and inviting.

The front door slammed, and the tapping of Lucinda's high heels floated up the stairs. Cassie jerked upright, feeling the heat of a blush envelop her body from head to toe. "Oh, my gosh. She can't find you here!"

Sam sat up, casually leaning back on his elbows. "And why not? Last time I checked, you were an adult."

She slugged him with her pillow. "Put your clothes on. I'm going to try to sneak you out the back door."

He responded by grabbing her around the waist and wrestling her back down to the mattress. The desire to get him out of her bed evaporated. "What are you doing?" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat as he nuzzled a breast.

"I'm trying to make love to you, but you keep talking and distracting me."

Clinging to what little reasoning she still possessed, she arched her back as his mouth traveled lower. "But . . . Aunt . . . Lucinda . . ."

Somebody knocked on the bedroom door, and they both froze. "Cassie? Are you awake? I was about to start breakfast and was wondering if you'd like something."

Cassie jumped out of bed, hitting Sam on the head with her knee.

"I'm in here, Aunt Lu. I just need to get dressed and I'll be down in a minute."

"All right. I'll be in the kitchen." Lucinda's heels tapped their way down the hall.

Cassie let out a sigh of relief and was about to collapse back on the bed when she heard Lucinda call back, "Tell Sam he'll have a plate waiting with the eggs over easy, the way he likes them." After a short pause, she continued, "And please don't leave your underwear on the coatrack in the foyer, Cassie. It doesn't look nice." The heel tapping continued in the hallway and then down the steps.

Cassie fell back on the bed and folded her arms over her eyes. "I will never be able to look her in the face again."

Sam rolled over her, his body pressing hers into the mattress. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe we were set up? Why do you think Lucinda had me drive you home last night to an empty house?"

Her eyes widened. "It's a conspiracy. I can't win."

He moved against her, and she felt his desire for her. She should get up and leave now, before she decided to stay indefinitely in his arms. Still, she remained where she was.

She touched his earlobe, remembering how it tasted. "Last night you asked me how long I thought you'd been thinking about seeing me naked. How long has it really been, Sam?"

His eyes darkened and narrowed, his gaze boring into hers as if trying to read her thoughts. "I don't know if I should tell you."

"Why . . . not?" She shifted under him, her need for him making her ache. And it was more than a physical ache. It grew inside her, threatened to take over, and she resisted it. "Sam-" Her words were cut short by a sharp rap on the front door, and then, with a jangling of keys, somebody pushed open the door and walked into the foyer downstairs with heavy footsteps.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

Cassie recognized Ed Farrell's voice and then Lucinda calling for her to answer the door. She pictured her aunt in the kitchen up to her elbows in pancake batter. "I'd better go see what he wants." She put her feet on the floor, but Sam's hand held her back.

"Don't go." His voice was serious, and she knew he wasn't talking about staying in bed.

With a gentle shake of her head, she pulled away, somewhat relieved to have an excuse to leave Sam's touch. His hands on her seemed to scramble her brain, and she needed her wits about her.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Sam. You knew before we even came into this house last night that whatever happened between us was only temporary. We're two different people. We want very different things in life."

Sam slid from the bed, and Cassie tried to keep her eyes off his naked torso and muscled limbs as he bent to retrieve his pants and pull them on. He looked at her, his face a mask of restraint. "We're not so different. You're just so busy denying it that you can't see the truth. I thought that last night, with Andrew out of the picture . . ." He slid his shirt over his head.

Her hands shook as she pulled on her underclothes, shorts, and a shirt. "You don't know me at all. How dare you make assumptions as to who I am." She straightened. "And as for last night . . ." She bit her lip, unable to go on. She had wanted to say it was because she was lonely, but they would both know she was lying.

He approached and stopped directly in front of her. She felt his heat as he spoke. "I have loved you ever since sixth grade, when you put that roach in Susan Benedict's lunch box. There has not been a day since that I have not studied you, thought about you, or loved you. I spent hours with your father talking about you in the fifteen years, three months, and eleven days since you left. It's a sickness, I know. But I can't seem to cure myself." Shaking his head, he walked toward the door. "Last night was a mistake. I told you before, it's all or nothing with me. I won't be your warm body for lonely nights."

He pulled open the door, not looking back. "And don't worry. I'll take the back stairs."

She wanted to say something, but the threat of tears made her mute. Why was she so miserable? She had everything she wanted, didn't she? She'd even had the chance to sleep with him to get him out of her system. So why did she want to throw herself on the bed and cry for hours?

He shut the door gently behind him. She waited a moment, then left to go downstairs.

"Hey, Ed. I'm here. Sorry to make you wait."

Ed looked up, a flush of embarrassment flooding his face. "Gosh, Cassie-I wouldn't have just barged in like that if I thought you were here. I didn't see anybody's car out front, and nobody answered the door, so I let myself in." He held out a stack of papers. "I wanted to drop this facts sheet off to leave on the kitchen counter. Lists all the amenities and things that a prospective buyer might be interested in." A stray blob of white shaving cream clung to his upper lip as he smiled.

Cassie's gaze strayed to the writing box sitting on the hall settee. Scooping it up before Lucinda had a chance to be curious about it, she faced Ed, holding out her hand. "Thanks. I'll put them in the kitchen."

He handed them to her, his gaze catching sight of the box. "That's a beautiful antique writing box, Cassie. Where did you find it?"

"In my attic. It was my daddy's."

Ed nodded, rubbing his jaw. "Was there anything in it?"

She adjusted the bulky box in her arms. "A few letters. Nothing of any value."

"Well, I'm starting a little collection of American antiques, and I'd love to have that. Let me know if you're going to get rid of it, because I'd like to call first dibs."

"Sure. I'll let you know."

He turned to go, but faced her again, his brows puckered. "Have you had any more calls from the Roust people?"

"Well, just one besides the original call I told you about. It was their marketing department. Wanted to find out how long it had been on the market and how long I might wait until changing my mind about keeping it residential. I hung up on them."

He grinned, the blob of shaving cream dangling precariously. "Good for you. I guess they're saving their hassling for me."

Cassie grabbed for the knob and held the door open for him. "What do you mean?"

He sighed heavily. "Well, one of my sites was vandalized last night. You know that condo development off of Route One where the drive-in movie theater used to be? Somebody came and stole all the bathroom fixtures last night. Just plain ripped them out of the walls. It's gonna set me back at least a month to get them replaced and reinstalled."

"I'm sorry, Ed. And you really think Roust had something to do with it?"

"Not that I'll ever be able to prove it, of course, but who else would want to do that? Well, maybe that Sam Parker. He's as bad as Jim Roust. One wants to destroy the town, and the other wants to make sure it remains the armpit of the state." He stepped out onto the porch. "I don't blame you one bit for wanting to leave this two-horse town in your dust. Not one bit."

She leaned back on the doorframe. "I wouldn't exactly call Walton an armpit, Ed. Certainly it's no Manhattan, but it does have its charms."

Frowning, he faced her again. "Are you sure you're not changing your mind about staying here for good?"

The ghost of Sam's touch claimed her, making her skin tingle and her heart thud. Just as quickly, fear gripped her; fear of losing herself, of losing control and everything she had worked so hard for. She would never go back to that vulnerable country girl she had once been. "Never. I'm not staying-I just couldn't. I mean, there's just not a whole lot here to keep me-well, except for Harriet and her kids. I'm sure I'll visit, but I'll never live in Walton again."

A congenial smile settled on his face. "Fine. I respect your decision. I just need to get back to work to find you a nice little family to move in here. Anything but having those Roust people in here trying to turn this into a shopping mall." He snorted, stepping heavily down the porch steps. "And if you see Dr. Parker, tell him that I've got two more councilmembers on my side regarding that moratorium. Tell him to just give it up and stick to doctoring like he's supposed to."

Cassie flushed, wondering if Ed had seen Sam's truck in the backyard. "I'll mention it to him."

He sent her a brief nod. "All right, then. I'll be seeing you later. Think I've got another family interested in a showing. I'll bring them by this afternoon."

"I probably won't be here, but you know how to get in." He flushed, bringing back Cassie's memory of the skinny boy with the hungry look in his eyes. She stepped toward him and wiped the shaving cream off his chin. Showing it to him, she said, "I didn't think you'd want that there."

Something in his eyes flashed, a mixture of gratitude and something else. "Thanks, Cassie. I appreciate that."

Saying good-bye, she closed the door.

When she went back inside and entered the kitchen, she was just in time to hear the back door slam and then the engine of Sam's truck start up. His barely touched plate sat on the table next to a half-empty cup of coffee. Lucinda stood by the stove, spatula in hand and with a worried look on her face. "He said he wasn't that hungry, after all. Said he had business in town he needed to see to."

Realizing he must have heard the entire conversation, she went run-ning to the screen door, flinging it open. "Sam," she shouted, scram-bling down the steps toward him.

He lifted a hand to wave but didn't stop as he drove past her, the dust from his wheels floating up over her, settling on her like a cloak of shame.

Cassie's alarm clock rang, shrill and urgent, at six-thirty on Wednesday morning. She hadn't slept much, her thoughts ricocheting between her feelings for Sam and her concern for Harriet. She had counted enough sheep to fill the house and yard, but still, sleep had evaded her.

She had finally resorted to pulling the writing box from under her bed and reading until her eyes blurred. Most of the letters were simply written, the words of a young girl in love. Whatever had been between her father and this woman had been love, even if not the same as what her parents had shared. But a love, nevertheless, which had created a child. Feeling weary but not yet ready to sleep, she pulled the last unread letter from the box.