"Very well," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

"I ready told you. Get naked."

"I said I was going to make love to you, not the other way around."

"Maybe I don't want to make love. Maybe I just want to fuck."

That rat rat! He was deliberately goading her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from falling into his clutches. If she lost her temper, she'd be giving him the upper hand, and that was exactly what he wanted. Somehow she had to stand up to him, and she had to do it on her terms. She loved him too much to let him bully her like this.

She considered her options, then rose from the bed to undress. He said nothing; he merely watched her. She kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her costume, but when she got down to her bra and panties, she found herself reluctant to go any further. He was powerfully aroused, a fact the fit of those jeans made evident, and his mood was so dangerous that she wasn't quite sure what to expect. Maybe distraction would be a good option. That way she could buy herself a little time.

So much had happened since her interview with her father that she hadn't had a chance to talk with Alex about his astonishing claims, if she brought the subject up now, she might be able to throw him off guard. A discussion about his family history could also defuse his unpredictable mood.

"Dad told me your father was a Romanov."

"Take off my jeans."

"And not just any Romanov. He said your father was the grandson of Czar Nicholas II."

"Don't make me repeat myself."

He regarded her with such arrogance that it wasn't at all difficult to imagine him sitting on the throne of Catherine the Great and ordering some recalcitrant Petroff female to throw herself into the Volga.

"He says you're the heir to the Russian crown."

"Be quiet and do what I told you."

She repressed a sigh. Lord, he was being difficult. Apparently there was nothing like a declaration of love to make this Russian go on the attack. She found it difficult to meet his gaze with any measure of dignity when she was clad only in her underwear and he looked so alarmingly potent, but she did her best. This clearly wasn't the time to pry loose any of the answers she craved.

He sneered at her. "When you take off my jeans, do it on your knees."

Insufferable jerk! jerk!

His lips thinned. "Now."

She took three deep breaths. She'd never imagined he'd go this squirrelly on her. It was amazing what fear could do to a man. And now he intended to push her until she threw her declaration of love back in his face. How many tigers did she have to tame in one day?

As she studied the arrogant narrowing of his eyes, the insolent flare of his nostrils, she felt an unexpected rush of tenderness. Her poor darling. He was dealing with his fear in the only way he knew how, and castigating him for it would only make him more defensive. Oh, Alex, what did your uncle's whip do to you? Oh, Alex, what did your uncle's whip do to you?

She gazed into his eyes and slowly lowered herself to her knees. Threads of sensation uncoiled inside her as she saw how aroused he was. Even his fear hadn't been able to destroy that.

His fists clenched at his sides. "Damn it! Where's your pride?"

She sat back on her heels and gazed up at his face, harsh and uncompromising, with those Russian cheekbones casting deep shadows and pale lines of strain bracketing his mouth. "Pride? It's in my heart, of course."

"You're letting me demean you!"

She smiled. "You can't do that. I can only demean myself. And I'm on my knees to undress you because it excites me."

A treacherous silence stretched between them. He looked so tortured that she couldn't bear it. She came up on her knees and pressed her lips to his hard belly, just above the waistband of his jeans. As she nibbled there, she tugged on the snap till it gave way beneath her fingers. Then she struggled to lower the zipper.

His skin broke out in gooseflesh, and his voice sounded ragged. "I don't understand you at all."

"I think you do. It's yourself you don't understand."

He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her to her feet. His eyes were so dark and unhappy she couldn't bear it. "What am I going to do with you?" he said.

"Maybe love me back?"

His breath left his body in a smothered rush of sound, and his mouth covered hers. She felt his desperation and was powerless to help him. The kiss claimed them both. Like a whirlwind, it swept them into its power.

She didn't know whether they undressed themselves or each other, but they were soon lying naked on the bed. Sensation, warm and thick, spread outward from her belly. His mouth was on her shoulder, her breasts, brushing the crests. He kissed her belly. She opened her legs for him and let him raise her knees.

"I'm going to touch you everywhere," he murmured against the soft skin of her inner thigh.

And he did. Oh, he did.

He couldn't love her with his heart, but he could love her with his body, and he did it with an unbridled generosity that filled her with emotion. She took what he was able to give and, at the same time, she loved him back, using her hands and her breasts, the graze of her skin, the warmth of her mouth.

When he finally buried himself deep within her, she wrapped her legs around his and clung fast.

"Yes," she whispered. "Oh, yes."

The barriers between them disappeared, and as they climbed together, she began to talk.

"Oh, yes. Like that. I love...Yes. Deep. Oh, yes. Just that..."

She crooned to him from passion and from instinct, if she stopped talking, he'd try to forget who she was and turn her into an anonymous female body. She couldn't bear that. She was Daisy. She was his wife.

And so she talked, held tight, and raced with him into that place of oneness.

Finally, all the darkness gave way to light.

"It was sacred."

"It wasn't sacred, Daisy. It was sex."

"Let's do it again."

"I'm going seventy miles an hour, we didn't have more than three hours of sleep last night, and we're already late getting into Allentown."

"Stuffed shirt."

"Who are you calling a stuffed shirt?"

"You."

He glanced over at her, a devilish spark in his eyes. "I dare you to say that when you're naked."

"I'm not getting naked till you admit it was sacred."

"How about if I admit it was special? Because it was definitely special."

She gave him a smug look and let it go at that. Last night had been more than special, and both of them knew it. She'd felt it in the urgency of their lovemaking and the way they'd held on to each other afterward. When they'd looked into each other's eyes, nothing was hidden, nothing held back.

This morning, she'd expected him to be up to his old tricks again, acting surly and impossible, doing everything he could to distance himself. But to her surprise, he'd been funny and tender instead. It was as if he'd given up the struggle. With every beat of her romantic's heart, she wanted to believe he'd fallen in love with her, but she knew it wouldn't be that easy. For now she'd be grateful that he'd lowered his guard.

Rain began to splatter the truck's dusty windshield with great amoeba-shaped drops. It was a chilly, dreary morning, and according to the forecast, it would only get worse. He looked over at her, and she had the feeling he'd read her mind.

"I can't resist you," he said quietly. "You know that, don't you? And I'm tired of pretending I can." His expression grew more troubled. "But I don't love you, Daisy, and you can't begin to know how sorry I am about that because if I could chose anyone in this world to love, it'd be you."

She made herself speak around the lump in her throat. "The mutation thing?"

"Don't joke about it."

"I'm sorry. It's just so unbelievably-" Stupid. Stupid. It was stupid, but she bit back the word. As long as he believed he couldn't love, she would only set up his defenses by arguing with him about it. Unless it was true. The unhappy thought trailed through her mind. What if he was right and his bleak, violent childhood had scarred him so badly he could never love? Or what if he merely couldn't love her? It was stupid, but she bit back the word. As long as he believed he couldn't love, she would only set up his defenses by arguing with him about it. Unless it was true. The unhappy thought trailed through her mind. What if he was right and his bleak, violent childhood had scarred him so badly he could never love? Or what if he merely couldn't love her?

The rain began to hammer on the roof of the cab. She looked down at her wedding band. "Tell me what it would be like? If you loved me?"

"If I loved you?"

"Yes."

"It's a waste of time to talk about something I can't make happen."

"You know what I think? I don't think it could be much better than it is right now. Now is very good."

"But it's not going to last. When our six months are over, so is this marriage. I couldn't live with myself if I had to watch you grow bitter because I can't give you what you deserve. I can't give you love. I won't give you children. These are things you need, Daisy. That's the kind of woman you are, and you'll wither without them."

His words set off small detonations of pain inside her, but she wasn't going to punish him for his honesty by attacking him because of her hurt. She also knew she couldn't take any more at the moment, so she changed the subject. "Do you know what I want?"

"I'd guess a few weeks at a pricey resort and a manicure."

"No. I want to be a kindergarten teacher."

"You do?"

"Silly, isn't it? I'd have to go to college, and I'm too old for that. By the time I graduated, I'd be past thirty."

"How old will you be if you don't go to college?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The years are still going to pass, whether you go to college or not."

"Are you seriously telling me you think I should do it?"

"I don't know why not."

"Because I've had enough failure in my life, and I really don't want to go through any more. I know I'm intelligent, but my schooling's been slipshod at best, and I'm completely undisciplined. I can't imagine competing in a college classroom with a lot of bright-eyed eighteen-year-olds who've had conventional educations."

"Maybe it's time you stopped selling yourself short. Don't forget that you're a lady who can tame tigers." He gave her a mysterious smile that made her wonder exactly which tiger he was talking about-Sinjun or himself. But, no, Alex was too arrogant ever to think of himself as tamed.

She spotted a series of arrows stapled to a utility pole. "There's a turn ahead."

Finding circus routing arrows was as natural to Alex as breathing, and she suspected he'd already seen them, but he nodded. The rain was coming down harder, and he flipped the windshield wipers to high speed.

"I don't suppose we're lucky enough to be performing on a nice asphalt surface today," she said.

"Afraid not. We're in a field."

"I guess I'm going to learn firsthand why circuses like Quest Brothers are called mud shows. I just hope the rain doesn't upset the animals."

"They'll be fine. It's the workers who'll suffer most."

"And you. You'll be right out there with them. You always are."

"It's my job."

"A strange job for the man who would be czar." She gave him a sideways gaze. If he thought she'd forgotten about this particular subject, he was dead wrong.

"Are we back to that again?"

"Just tell me the truth, and I won't mention it again."

"Is that a promise?"

"I swear."

"All right, then." He took a deep breath. "There's a distinct possibility it's true."

"What!" Her head whipped around so fast, she nearly threw her neck out. Her head whipped around so fast, she nearly threw her neck out.

"I definitely have Romanov ancestry, and from what Max has been able to piece together, I'd say there's a good chance that I'm the great-grandson of Nicholas II."

She sagged back into the seat. "I don't believe this."

"Good. Then we don't have to talk about it anymore."

"You really are?"

"Max has some fairly convincing proof. But since I'm not going to do anything about it, there's no point in discussing it."

"You're the heir to the Russian throne?"

"Russia doesn't have a throne. In case you've forgotten, it isn't a monarchy."