"I don't need you to comfort me, " she said angrily, and it was the first show of emotion he'd heard since she'd told him the truth. He was glad of it and continued to hug her tightly.

"But I need to, " he said softly.

She struggled to get away, and Cole finally let go.

"You don't understand. I was such a coward. I should have done something, but I didn't do anything. I let it happen. I watched. "

She took a deep breath in an attempt to control herself and put her hand out to ward him off when he took a step toward her.

"Okay, I'll agree with you if you want me to, " he said. "You should have done something to prevent it. Now, tell me, what should you have done? " She shook her head. "I don't know. I was so scared I couldn't think. My God, when they first rushed into the bank, I was worried about my stupid money. I should have . . . " "What? " he persisted. "What could you have done? You could have died with Franklin and the others. Is that what you feel guilty about? That you survived and they didn't? Do you think you should have crawled out from your hiding place and knelt down with the others and let them kill you too? " "No, but maybe . . . if I had screamed, someone outside might have heard . . . " "Enough." He roughly pulled her into his arms again and was pleased because she didn't fight him this time.

"You couldn't have done anything."

"You would have, " she whispered against his chest.

"Yeah, maybe I would have, " he allowed. "If I had had a gun, but I would have died. I couldn't have gotten all of them."

"But you would have tried. I didn't."

"Did you have a weapon to use against all of them? " "No, but" "There wasn't a damned thing you could do, and somewhere in that head of yours you know that's true." Trembling, she wrapped her arms around him and held tight. "I want . .

. " "What, sweetheart? " he asked as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

She tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes. She needed his strength tonight, and she desperately needed his comfort . . . and his love.

"You should get some sleep, " he told her as he gently lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the campfire. He laid her down and knelt beside her, frowning at her with worry.

"You're going to be all right." He said the words, not so much to convince her, but to convince himself.

He started to turn away then, but she grabbed hold of his hand. "Sleep with me, " she whispered.

Outwardly he didn't show any reaction to her plea. Inwardly his heart felt as though it had just fallen to the pit of his stomach.

"No, " he answered, his voice harsh, his need to touch her almost overwhelming.

In the firelight, her hair had turned a vibrant red, and all he could think about was threading his fingers through the silky mass and coming down on top of her sweet, soft body. . . .

"It's out of the question."

"Just for a little while, " she begged.

"I don't want to be alone."

"You're not alone. I'm two feet away.

I'm telling you it's not a good idea."

"Why not? " "You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. I want to stay with you, but I sure don't want to sleep."

"You want to make love to me."

"Hell, yes." His eyes had turned a deep intense blue, and the hand she held had turned into a fist. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do." She let go of him and rolled to her side, away from him. "Good night.

" He didn't move. He knelt there, fighting a silent war for what seemed an eternity before he finally gave in.

He stretched out beside her, closed his eyes, and tried to pretend she wasn't there.

No matter what, he vowed, he wouldn't touch her. Granted, a man had only so much discipline and she was definitely pushing him to his limit, but she didn't realize what she was doing to him. She needed him, though not in the physical way he wanted or needed her, he reminded himself. She was feeling all alone and craved human contact.

She was killing him. Her hair tickled his nose. Just as he was brushing the silky strands away, she lifted up and pulled his arm under her so that her head was pillowed against him. She smelled like roses tonight, and he was suddenly reminded of home. That was it, he decided. He'd think about all the things he wanted to get done when he got back to Rosehill.

He couldn't come up with a single chore.

"Five minutes, Jessie. I'm only staying with you for five minutes. "

He grimaced over the sound of his voice.

She obviously wasn't upset by his gruff manner. She scooted against him, until her back was pressed against his chest and her bottom cuddled his groin.

A cold sweat broke out on his brow. This was hell, he decided, to be so near the woman he craved and not be able to touch her. His only saving grace was the thought that it couldn't possibly get any worse.

He was wrong about that. She wiggled against him and a bolt of white hot longing shot through him.

"Don't move, " he ordered. "Just go to sleep." Evidently unaffected by his harshness, she reached up to grab hold of his hand and pull his arm around her waist. He couldn't stop himself from tightening his hold and snuggling closer. His hand rested beneath the swell of her breasts, and all he had to do was spread his fingers and touch her soft . . .

The erotic picture was interrupted when she tried to turn in his arms.

He had promised her five minutes. He must have been out of his mind, but he had given his word, and so he began to count off the seconds.

Heaven help him, if he lasted one full minute without kissing her, he figured he could last a lifetime.

He wanted a lifetime with her.

The admission stunned him. He realized he'd been ignoring the truth for a long time, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known, and accepted. He could even name the moment he knew he loved her. It was when that bastard, Johnson, was on the roof with his rifle trying to kill her. Cole had never felt such rage before. As he raced toward her, thinking he wouldn't be able to get to her in time, the possibility of losing her had scared the hell out of him. In the aftermath, he'd been so shaken with fear, he'd reacted with anger, not love.

If this was true love, he wanted no part of it. Yet he didn't want to ever let go of her.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to kiss her shoulder, the side of her neck, her ear. He kept telling himself to stop this torment, but his senses were already responding. She smelled so good and felt so soft.

Had five minutes gone by? Maybe she'd gone to sleep, he thought desperately, and he clung to that hope like a man hanging from a rope on the side of a cliff.

She tried to turn in his arms again. "Don't move, " he whispered.

"I want to kiss you good night." His heart soared at her shyly whispered request. "No, " he snapped.

"Please? " He sighed into her hair. "If you kiss me, I swear I won't stop. Now leave me alone and go to sleep." He made a mockery of his own ultimatum by nuzzling her neck again. He loved the feel of her skin against his mouth. He loved the little sound she made in the back of her throat, like a gasp but not quite.

Jessica stayed perfectly still for several heartbeats, and when she slowly turned in his arms, she knew exactly what she was doing and what it would lead to. Heedless of the consequences, she stroked the side of his face, stared into his beautiful eyes, and then slipped her hand behind his neck.

"I want this one night with you . . . just one night."