It was time to change her mind.

Stephen tugged her closer and caught her slender body in his arms, shifting so he could lower her to the mattress. Her slight gasp drifted in the air as he covered her, and the descent of his mouth to capture her lips stopped any other sound.

It was a hungry kiss, despite his determination to go slow and not rush things. He feasted like a starved man, tasting, savouring, the pent-up longing of the past merging with the present. The indulgence went on until his muscles felt knotted and tight, and his arousal strained against his breeches with uncomfortable urgency.

"I want you," he murmured against her lips. "I need you."

"I can tell." Sabrina's laugh was a m.u.f.fled sound, sweet like a sigh. If she was afraid, it didn't show.

Her arms, he realized with triumph, were twined around his neck and her hips cradled him perfectly. "You're a virgin?"

The hint of question in his voice wasn't an insult to her honour, but he just wasn't sure if she was. She'd travelled widely, she had shown no inclination to look for a husband and, the truth was, if she didn't want one, she didn't need to get married. Her father had left her a fortune, and with it came the freedom of choice. As a young, beautiful heiress, she would be a premium on the marriage mart, but so far her interest hadn't been evident. Stephen knew full well she had an independent spirit.

He didn't want to conquer it. That quality was one of the things he loved the most about her. The light in her eyes when she contemplated a new idea, the mischievous edge to her personality, the innate sentimental loyalty that made her unique and set her apart from the young women he knew.

"Yes."

The shy, breathless admission made him relax a fraction. The jealousy he felt for the lover she'd never had evaporated. He wasn't even aware he harboured the feeling so intensely until that moment.

He nuzzled the sensitive spot under her ear. "I hoped."

"You doubted?" There was prim censure in her tone.

He laughed, blowing his breath across her fragrant skin. "Can I say I have always recognized your disdain for a guiding hand?"

"True." Sabrina touched his cheek, turned his face and looked into his eyes. "What are we doing?"

"I want to make love to you," he said in a constricted voice.

"And here Aunt Beatrice thinks you are such a good influence on me."

"When we were younger, we did her the favour of keeping her in the dark over some of our daring childhood pursuits that would have given her the vapours." He kissed her neck. "We could be just as kind over this matter."

"Good suggestion." Exploring fingers ran over the muscles of his back, sending tingles like licks of flame up his spine. Her voice husky, Sabrina said, "You are ever the voice of reason. She never has to know."

"And you ever embrace an adventure." He eased the ribbon on the bodice of her chemise free. "I will do my best to make this an exciting one for you. Can I interest you in a trip to paradise?"

"Is it really?" Her eyes widened.

Now then, he'd just issued himself a challenge, hadn't he? Stephen admired the shadow between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he parted the delicate lace of her chemise and tugged the garment downwards. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were perfect: firm, high and full enough to fill his palm. He cupped her and, with his thumb, caressed a rosy nipple. Sabrina gave a very satisfying gasp.

"You may let me know if you agree afterwards." The whisper was said against her skin as he slid his mouth downwards, tracing the graceful curve of her throat, across her collarbone, and lower, until he kissed silky mounded flesh and kneaded the opposite breast in a gentle rhythm. The small arch of her spine as he suckled the delicious taut crest told him volumes.

"Oh, Stephen." Sabrina's hands caught his arms, holding tight. "Should you do that?"

"We can do whatever we want," he murmured, lightly licking her nipple, pleased to see how tight and budded it became under his ministrations. "In a world full of rules and censure, what we do in private is only between us."

"I . . . I . . ."

Whatever she was going to say was lost as he pulled her chemise lower, over the subtle flare of her hips and length of her legs, exposing all of her to his hungry gaze as he tossed it on the floor. Outside the moon was high enough to send slivers of light through the small cas.e.m.e.nt window and illuminated each curve, each seductive hollow, the shadowed apex between her slim thighs graced by dark gold curls. With a reverent touch, he skimmed his fingertips down her belly, feeling the reaction in the muscles, seeking that tantalizing juncture. "You what?" Stephen asked as he found warmth and sleek dampness.

Supine, gloriously nude, Sabrina was the very essence of his dreams, so desirable he couldn't ever imagine how fate had schemed for this night to finally happen. He was actually grateful to the nefarious Bloomfield.

Now, to make this an event she would never forget.

"You were saying?" he teased, his brows lifted, watching her face as he put just the slightest pressure on just the right spot, braced on one elbow, his hand stroking between her legs.

Sabrina made an interesting sound in her throat, and her thighs, which had been pressed together in maidenly modesty at his intimate touch, fell apart a little. "That feels . . . oh."

"Perfect," he supplied softly. "You feel perfect."

He watched her face as he began to bring her to climax, the heightening colour as it spread across her cheekbones, the droop of her lashes as she began to get lost in the building sensation, the way her lips parted to let out small delicious moans. When it happened, she cried out and trembled, her eyes flying open in surprise so he could see both her pa.s.sion and stunned wonder.

When he stood up and started to unfasten his breeches, he couldn't help but give a masculine grin at the dazed look on her lovely face. It wasn't often he saw Sabrina at a loss for words, but she did appear tongue-tied, especially as he freed his erection. She stared at the hard length against his stomach. In the aftermath of her first s.e.xual culmination, she was all lush feminine enticement as she lay there, nude and flushed, and then though he knew it wasn't deliberate she wet her lips.

It almost undid him, then and there.

Stephen took in a shuddering breath, found control, and said hoa.r.s.ely, "Did I mention paradise was even better together? Let me show you."

She wasn't sure what the man had just done to her, but Stephen had told her the absolute truth. Just as he had promised years ago that swimming was not hard once you relaxed and trusted the buoyancy of the water, and that if she practised the pianoforte with a joy for the music, not as a ch.o.r.e, she would become more proficient, he was right yet again. The exquisite pleasure she had just experienced was a revelation, and though she supposed she should be frightened, or at least nervous, she just wasn't because whatever happened next, he would take care of her.

"Are you typical?" she couldn't help but ask, always inquisitive and especially so at this moment. The impressive length of him was a bit daunting, even for someone who had once faced a leopard in the midst of a tropical jungle. She had the same feeling, actually: awe for the splendour and beauty of the beast, but also an understandable trepidation for what might happen next.

"How the devil would I know," Stephen muttered. "Trust you to be a.n.a.lytical at a time like this. I'm happy to say that whatever the flaws of my gender might be, we do not compare ourselves to each other when in this state."

It hadn't been the most logical of questions, she conceded, but then again, logic didn't seem to apply to this evening.

"But I accept the compliment." There was a cheeky edge to his quick, boyish grin, but nothing boyish in the heavy light in his eyes. His voice dropped to a low whisper and he shifted so he was on top of her, arms braced, his mouth just teasing the juncture of neck and shoulder. "Open for me, Sabrina. I need you."

If the hot, hard press of his erect length against her hip was an indication, he told the truth. It always irked her if Stephen knew more on any subject than she did and later she'd have to find out how he knew more about this particular subject but for now the warm press of his lips on her skin was beguiling and she didn't resist when he nudged her legs apart and settled between her thighs.

The sensation of his entry made her suck in a deep breath and her hands grasped his biceps, holding tight, but Stephen merely murmured in a husky tone, "Relax, my love."

He'd never called her that before and it startled her enough that she barely noticed the sting as her innocence was lost, her gaze riveted on his face as he deeply sheathed himself.

And then suddenly they were fully joined and it was . . . indescribable.

"It doesn't really hurt," she said breathlessly. "I was under the impression there would be more pain. It's just a little uncomfortable. Do most women-"

"If you please, do not bring up other women right now," he ordered, his face holding an intense expression belying the amused irritation in his voice. "How you feel is important, no one else. Can I move?"

She didn't have the slightest idea what he meant.

"Like this." He slid backwards and she felt a pang of loss until he surged forwards again and small blissful pulses racked her body. "Yes," she whispered, "by all means move . . . oh, Stephen."

He did it again, a low sound emanating from deep in his throat. Sabrina watched in fascination as his lashes drifted downwards and the expression on his face grew taut. Her body lifted naturally into the next thrust and her hands slid upwards to rest on his shoulders.

Any discomfort eased as the rhythm increased, lost to the strange upwards spiral she'd experienced earlier and, when he reached between their moving bodies and touched her there again, she couldn't help a shuddering response, the pleasure was so acute. Paradise, she discovered, was a delicious, wicked pleasure in a simple bed in an obscure inn.

Above her, Stephen went very still at once, and his breath whistled outwards in an audible gasp, and he shuddered, dropping his head, his eyes closed. The moment stretched on, drifting, the little room quiet except for the hurried sound of their respiration.

It had all been . . . what was the word? she wondered, as she tested the sleek dampness of his skin over the muscles of his back, running her fingers lazily along the defined hardness. Sublime? Rapturous? Both fitted, but weren't quite right. Exquisite?

"I knew it would be like this," Stephen spoke first, his voice slightly strange.

Maybe he had the right word. "Like what?" Sabrina queried, noting her voice wasn't quite normal either.

He didn't answer. "Are you quite all right?" he asked instead, easing over to his side but not withdrawing, instead urging her to go with him so they stayed intimately entwined.

"Of course." She raised her brows. "Why wouldn't I be? Do you recall my father telling you about the time we were forced to outrun Barbary pirates and they were firing on our vessel and one of the bullets actually tore through my sleeve and grazed my arm? I a.s.sure you that stung far worse."

"I see." His habitual dryness returned to his tone. "Well, how does a man compete with bloodthirsty pirates and open-sea chases? Rather a daunting task, that. As an adventure, how did this rate?"

Before she could respond, he kissed her pa.s.sionately, one hand smoothing suggestively over her bare hip.

And she forgot entirely about that wild trip to Gibraltar.

Three.

The clatter of the busy street outside added to his distraction, but the noise was hardly the main culprit. Stephen frowned and tried to concentrate on the doc.u.ments spread across his desk in an untidy fashion, then sighed and rubbed his hand across his jaw.

It was no use.

A week.

A full week since he'd returned Sabrina to her fashionable town-house, the precious notes in hand, and bid her a polite farewell. Not a lover's goodbye, but his usual casual leave-taking, for if there was anything he refused to do, it was pressure her for anything that would ruin their friendship.

But surely she understood everything had changed.

Actually, being Sabrina, she might just blithely count their night together as another escapade albeit a scandalous one and dismiss it as a new experience, no more. She hadn't so much as sent a note, even neglecting to invite him to tea, which her aunt usually did when they were in town.

Dear G.o.d, he might expire from frustration if he never touched her again, and- "Whatever it is that put that grim look on your face, I am sure it can be eased by a good whiskey. It doesn't look like you are getting much done anyway. Care to join me?"

Jerked out of his abstraction by the sound of the voice from the doorway of his small office, Stephen saw his oldest brother, Kenneth, one shoulder propped against the doorway, his expression slightly amused. The weather had turned and it was drizzling outside, droplets of moisture gleaming on his dark hair.

Stephen had to admit his mood was about as cheery as the dismal skies.

Well, brooding wasn't doing him much good, and it was getting late anyway. He got to his feet. "Sounds capital, actually. Let me retrieve my coat."

They walked two streets over to a busy tavern that catered to both tradesmen and well-dressed merchants, and found a table in one of the corners. Kenneth ordered two whiskeys from the harried barmaid, and folded his hands on the scarred wooden tabletop, lifting his dark brows. "So, what has you so blue-devilled? A difficult client?"

"Who says I'm blue-devilled?" Stephen muttered.

"The clerk, for one. As I came in and asked for you, he mentioned you hadn't been yourself lately. Just the few moments I stood there waiting for you to as much as notice my arrival supports his claim."

It was true, but galling to admit it. He'd finally realized his deepest fantasy, made love to Sabrina, not just once, but for a good deal of the night, drifted to sleep with her luscious naked body in his arms . . . and now he was at a loss as to what to do next. If he declared himself, exposed his true feelings, and she declined to accept an honourable offer of marriage, their friendship would be shattered.

It was a possibility. He knew her well enough to have no illusions. Sabrina had no desire to give up her adventurous lifestyle for a staid husband who made a living poring over legal doc.u.ments. She would have to want him more than her freedom, and was one night of pa.s.sion and a childhood friendship enough?

He accepted the gla.s.s from the barmaid and took a searing drink that burned as it hit his throat. He suppressed the urge to cough, and confessed, "It's a woman."

Kenneth, five years his senior and recently married, the heir to the t.i.tle and what modest fortune their family had left, simply nodded. "Sabrina."

Arrested with his gla.s.s at his mouth, Stephen stared.

"We've all known since . . ." Kenneth furrowed his brow. "Well, since you were both children probably."

"Known what?"

"Don't look so surprised." His brother chuckled. "It was obvious, always, even when you squabbled and got into trouble. There was a special connection between the two of you. Does it strike you how she's never been interested in pursuing the kind of highbrow marriage an heiress from a family so high up in society could contract? She's beautiful also, don't forget, so-"

"I'm not likely to forget," Stephen interrupted more curtly than he intended, recalling satin soft skin, and golden hair spilled across the bed sheets.

"No, I don't suppose you are." Fingering his gla.s.s, Kenneth said mildly, "While I don't think any male living on this green earth could claim to understand women, I am a married man, so I have some experience trying. Maybe I can help if you explain what precisely our lovely Sabrina has done lately to put you into such a dither."

"Dither?" Stephen shook his head. "Couldn't you have chosen a more masculine word? I'm not dithering, for G.o.d's sake, I'm . . . conflicted, that's all."

"In what way?"

"I cannot decide if asking her to marry me would be a huge mistake or not." He took an inelegant gulp of whiskey before continuing. "I should, but she doesn't seem to think I should, or at least I've gotten no indication of that kind. It's a devil's own dilemma, to be honest, for you are right, we have a very comfortable friendship. It is inevitable that would change if she knew how I feel about her."

There was a burst of raucous laughter from a small group of patrons, punctuated by the clink of gla.s.ses. At least someone was celebrating, Stephen thought morosely.

His older brother cleared his throat. "You should marry her?"

Stephen gave him a level look and said nothing. Not even his brother, of whom he was very fond and trusted implicitly, would he tell about that magical night at the inn.

"I . . . see." Kenneth sipped his drink, a faint frown furrowing his brow. Then he sighed. "Sabrina is unconventional, I'll give you that, a direct result of her father's fascination with travel and antiquities. She has the means to do what she wishes."

"Exactly," Stephen agreed, not encouraged by the observation not that he didn't already know that point to be valid. "Personally, jungles, remote mountaintops and blistering deserts don't hold a lot of appeal, but she's always been adventurous. Even if she agreed to marry me, I worry if I held her here in England she'd grow restless, but I can't picture letting her continue to travel to dangerous places. Even now, when I have no influence to stop her, I worry constantly."

"Marriage is about compromise, little brother." Kenneth leaned back in his chair, his expression a hint of sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt. "Tell her you'll ride a camel and sail with her to tropical islands if she wishes, but she must also agree to stay here for part of the year and share the kind of life you enjoy."

It sounded logical, but when it came to women, Stephen had discovered, the term all too often didn't apply. Quietly, he said, "I really have nothing to offer her, Ken. No fortune and no t.i.tle. As you pointed out, she could marry any time she wishes and she certainly would not have to settle for a junior solicitor who most definitely works for his modest living."

"Actually, what I pointed out was she could have married, but hasn't. It seems significant to me. Perhaps she is just waiting for you to ask."

Was she? Stephen wasn't sure, devil take it.

Perhaps she was wanton.

Sabrina had never thought of herself that way, but maybe it was true. In any case, all she had done since her return to London was dwell on the outrageous and marvellous way Stephen had touched her that fateful night after their mission to retrieve her father's notes. She blushed when she recalled the less than ladylike eagerness with which she'd responded. She'd lain against his lean body, neither one of them wearing a st.i.tch of clothing, and he'd ravished her mouth with long, pa.s.sionate kisses, while his hands- "You are certainly distracted."