"Perhaps you should lie down," Ryder said. He was sitting ccross-legged on the floor of the chamber, several maps from the trunk unrolled in front of him. He hadn't bothered looking up.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked. It was impossible to know the passing of time with any certainty, but Mary suspected it was already very late in a day that had been interminably long.

Ryder had stayed away for most of it, and though Mary didn't know what business he had had outside the cavern, she had felt as if she were being punished. She was tempted to say as much when he finally returned, but nothing in his manner invited conversation or comment. He had eaten his meal in silence. Afterward he had knelt in front of the trunk, emptying it of everything until he could lift the false bottom and retrieve the maps. He hadn't even glanced in Mary's direction to see if she was interested or irritated by the trunk's hidden treasure.

It was as if she had ceased to exist in any way that was important to him. It didn't make sense. Mary dropped her book back in the basket and stifled another yawn. She stood, her fingers and toes curling as she tried to stretch without bringing attention to herself. She was careful not to disturb Ryder's maps as she stepped around them, but the hem of her shift slid across his knee when she passed. The tug on her shift stopped her in her tracks. She turned and looked down.

Ryder was holding a handful of her shift in his fist.

"Yes?" she asked. The contrast of his skin against the white fabric, the intensity of his grip, held her focus. Suddenly Mary found it difficult to draw a breath. He didn't say anything, but the pull on her was inexorable, as real as if his hand had twisted in her shift and yanked her down. She felt her knees give way and then she was sitting beside him. His gaze shifted from his hand to her face, and the cool gray eyes studied her with a predator's awareness. Mary held herself very still. Even when his hand released her shift, she felt very much his captive.

"I'm not tired," he said lowly.

"Oh." Mary had forgotten that she'd asked.

"I wanted to be." His hand was raised, and it now rested on the curve of her neck. When his thumb made a slow pass across her skin, her pulse jumped beneath it.

"Why did you tell me, Mary?" She swallowed. His fingers lifted and drifted across her cheek. He touched her ear and tested the texture of her hair at her temple.

"Is this what you wanted?" When she didn't say anything, his hand closed over the back of her neck and he drew her closer.

"Or this?" His head bent and his mouth touched hers, lightly at first, a mere whisper of warmth against her lips.

"This, then." The pressure this time was more deliberate. His hand tightened, held her steady, and his mouth closed over hers.

He felt her try to draw in a breath, but it was his air she drank.

Her lips were soft, the space between them narrow. He widened it with his tongue, the touch tentative, a mere taste. The sound she made was small, almost a whimper. Ryder did not mistake her response for arousal alone. He could sense her fear. Instead of withdrawing, he deepened the kiss. His fingers wound around her hair and kept her close while his tongue explored the sweet recesses of her mouth. He leaned his weight into her gradually so that she was eased to the cool stone floor with hardly any awareness of how she had gotten there. His body unfolded beside her, stretching until one of his legs had captured hers. It was only then that he raised his mouth. The centers of her eyes were dark and vaguely unfocused. Her lips were parted and faintly swollen, richer in color than they had been before the kiss.

"My God," he said huskily.

"You've never even been kissed before."

Mary was surprised by her own indignation.

"Yes, I have," she said a little sharply.

"Oh?" He kissed the corner of her mouth, nibbled along the length of it. Her lips parted again, and he teased her with his tongue before he asked, "Who?"

"Jordan Reilly." Her answer had come too quickly to be a lie, yet Ryder suspected there was something she wasn't sharing. He lowered his head and kissed her hard, wringing an arching response from her.

Her breathing was quick and shallow when he drew back, and of their own accord, her hands had come to rest lightly on his shoulders.

"He was eight," she admitted after a moment.

"I was only-" She never finished. Ryder's mouth slanted across hers and Mary felt his urgency whip through her, lashing her with his heat and hunger.

There was anger as well, and it was less easy to understand. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. The weight of his body against her was unfamiliar, but she accepted it. Her arms eased around him and her fingers threaded in his thick, inky hair. Ryder broke off suddenly. He pulled away from Mary's grasp and sat up.

"You'd let me, wouldn't you?" he said harshly. Mary sat up. Confused by the accusation in his tone and a little wounded, she flushed.

Still, it was not in her to deny the truth.

"Yes," she said simply.

"I would."

"Why?" She didn't answer the question.

Instead she asked, "Why does it make you angry?" Ryder's smile was grim and humorless.

"I didn't know you realized I was."

"I could .. ." She hesitated.

"I could feel it in your kisses. I'm inexperienced. Not naive." She drew in her breath and said again, "So why are you angry?" Sighing, Ryder got to his feet.

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm not angry with you," he said.

"You haven't done anything except make me want you, and you did that a long time ago." He shook his head slowly.

"I shouldn't have brought you with me. It was a mistake to think I could keep my hands off you." Mary stood. Ryder was already turning from her when she asked quietly, "Why do you want to?"

"One doesn't miss what one hasn't had."

"That isn't true," she said.

"I know." Ryder turned around.

"We're not talking about the same thing," he said.

"Not at all." She wanted to satisiy her curiosity. She had no idea of the need that was driving him.

"Go to sleep now. I have work to do." She almost reached for him, but she sensed he would push her away. She walked past him, careful not to brush him, and went to the bed. Drawing off three of the blankets, she tossed them in Ryder's direction; then she lay down. He put out all the lanterns except the one he needed for reading the maps.

"I still have all my clothes on," she told him a shade defiantly. Ryder leaned over the maps. Without looking at her he said pleasantly, "Shut up, Mary." Knowing only that something had changed, he came awake suddenly. He was on his feet in the next moment as he sensed Mary's absence from the chamber.

She stood in the arched entrance holding a bucket of spring water in one hand and a lantern in the other.

"Did you think I left?" she asked curiously. Ryder raised one hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. Tension seeped out of him slowly.

"You did leave."

"Only to get some water." She hung the lantern inside the entrance and carried the bucket over to him.

"You were sleeping very soundly. I made a racket and you didn't stir once."

"Liar."