His breathing was harsh and uneven. He stroked her skin with his palms. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened. She arched, pliant as he molded her. His hands slid over her hips and caressed her thighs. His fingers dipped between her legs. His exploration was intimate and demanding, and Mary let him touch her in any manner he wanted because it was what she wanted too. He pushed her forward, lifting her hips, and entered her from behind, driving into her with enough force to make her gasp. On the next thrust she pushed back against him and seemed to take him rather than his taking her. The rhythm was primal. Blood roared in Mary's ears and had the sound and pulsing beat of ancient drums.

She responded to his every touch, to everything he did to her. Her skin was all nerve endings and sensation. She had no clear thoughts; she was all feeling. Mary's climax rocked her forward, arching her body like a bow. Ryder came into her, held her, and shuddered with his own release. They went limp together, easing themselves down on the wet tile. Mary hid her face in the curve of her elbow. When she felt Ryder tap her lightly on the shoulder she turned her head and gave him the benefit of one open eye and a single raised brow.

"Don't ever interrupt my bath again," she said, weary with pleasure.

"I won't survive it."

"May I take that as a compliment?" She nodded and closed her eye.

"This floor's cold." Still, she made no move to get up. Ryder helped her a little later, after he found dry towels in the washstand. He sent her off to the bedroom and cleaned up the mess they'd made.

"Someone's knocking at the door," she called in to him.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

"It's our dinner," he said.

"I'll get it.

You're not decent."

"I'm decent," she mumbled.

"I'm just not dressed." Mary flopped back on the bed. The towel unraveled at her breasts, and she was tugging it closed as Ryder came into the room. She regarded him skeptically.

"You're not precisely prepared to receive company either." In short order Ryder pulled on a dry shirt and clean trousers. He was tucking in the shirt, on his way to the door, when he called back to her.

"Get dressed.

When we're done eating, we're going out."

"Out?" Ryder didn't reply. He opened the door. Doc was standing on the threshold with a large tray of covered dishes. Ryder took the tray.

"I don't do this for just anyone," Doc said.

"I didn't expect personal service." Ryder balanced the tray in one hand and began searching his pocket for money for a tip. Doc shook his head.

"Don't trouble yourself. I came on another matter, too."

"Oh?"

"Mrs.

Anderson--she's the boarder below you, came to me with a complaint.

Seems there's a regular waterfall coming from your suite into hers.

You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Ryder's expression didn't change.

"My wife was taking a bath," he said.

"I'll have to ask her." Doc looked at Ryder's wet hair and the shirt that was clinging damply to his chest and drew his own conclusions. He cleared his throat, hiding his smile, and said, "You do that." Ryder shut the door and carried the tray to the table by the window of their sitting room. He lifted the lids and waved some of the fragrance of their hot meal in the direction of the bedroom.

"Can you smell that?" he asked.

"Dinner's ready."

"I heard everything that man said," she called back.

"I'm never coming out." Ryder smiled.

"Suit yourself." He arranged the dishes on the table and sat down. He hadn't finished unfolding the napkin in his lap when Mary joined him.

"My stomach's growling," she explained defensively, taking the chair opposite him.

"I.

didn't say anything." She ladled mushroom soup into her bowl.

"You didn't have to. No one who uses silence as effectively as you has to say much of anything. I swear you could have wrung a confession from Saint Joan." Mary spooned some soup, raising it to her lips. The aroma was delicious, and the first taste proved it was every bit as good as it smelled. They ate in silence for several minutes, moving from the soup to the crisp salad with vinaigrette dressing. Mary asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the theater."

"The theater?" She could not have been more surprised if he had said they were going to jump in the Potomac.

"There's a play you want to see?"

"Not exactly." She waggled her fork at him.

"I know how to use this weapon." He laughed.

"All right.

I was at the library this afternoon, catching up on what Washington knows about the Colter Canyon affair. While I was going through some of the most recent papers I saw an opening night notice for Much Ado About Nothing. It's anticipated to draw quite a crowd because Yvonne Marie is playing the role of Beatrice. I may not have seen anything but saloon-hall dramas these last few years, but even I've heard of Miss Marie."

"I shouldn't wonder," Mary said tartly.

"She has her picture on cigarette packages. I've seen them." He arched one dark brow.

"Really."

"We had patients at the hospital who swore her picture, if held close to the heart, had healing powers. It was not a notion well received by Mother Superior." Or Mary either, he suspected.

"Well, tonight she's live at the Regent Theater and I'd like to be there." He served Mary her portion of the broiled trout and parsley potatoes.

"I.

rather despise myself for saying this," she commented, "but I really don't have anything to wear." Ryder's gray glance slid smoothly over Mary's dark green gown. It was embellished with ivory lace at the throat and cuffs, and she had found a brooch among her sister's things to enhance the high neckline.