Confessions at Midnight

Chapter Thirteen

As was her habit following breakfast, Carolyn retired to the drawing room to enjoy a second cup of coffee. Normally she sat at her desk near the window and tended to her correspondence, or if it were sunny, just enjoyed the warmth of the rays streaming through the glass panes. Today, however, she paced, too restless, too stirred up from the tumultuous events of the last few days. First a murder, then taking Daniel as a lover, the fright of nearly being shot, the knowledge that Daniel was the intended victim…

She drew in a shuddering breath. It was little wonder she could barely sit still. And all her churning thoughts circled around a single word.

Daniel.

After another lap around the Turkish rug, she paused before the hearth. Clutching her copy of the Memoirs to her chest, she looked up at Edward's portrait.

As it did every day, his handsome face regarded her with that same gentle expression. Not a trace of condemnation showed in his eyes.

"Do you understand?" she whispered around the lump clogging her throat. "I pray you do, although I'm not certain how you can since I barely comprehend what's happening myself."

Edward merely continued to gaze down on her with benign affection.

"You own my heart," she continued. "You always will. But Edward, I'm so desperately lonely. I didn't know how much until he kissed me. I hadn't realized how deeply I wanted, needed, to be desired in that way again. How much I missed being touched… and touching in return. How much I truly wanted to live my life to the fullest until that shot nearly ended it all."

She looked down at the book she held, at the single blush-colored rose Daniel had given her, now pressed between the pages. The things he'd done to her last night… Her breath caught at the memory of the shocking, stunning pleasure. There was no use lying to herself. She'd wanted that pleasure. Had craved it.

And she wanted it again.

Was her reading of the Memoirs the only reason she felt this way? If so, why had these feelings manifested themselves with this particular man? She couldn't explain it, but they had, and they were impossible to ignore. Even more so now, given all she'd discovered last night about Daniel-the kind, caring, and generous side of him she'd known nothing about. A side she found both intriguing and very attractive. And again, impossible to ignore.

She raised her gaze to the portrait. "I'm stunned by my reaction to him," she whispered to Edward's image. "I never thought… never expected… but I cannot deny I desire him. Of course I won't let him touch my memories of you. Will never allow him to come between what you and I once shared."

Yet even as she said the words, she wondered if it were truly possible. Feared it might already be too late. That at some point the reality of making love with Daniel would overtake the memories of what she'd shared with Edward. Ever since Daniel had kissed her at the masquerade ball it was his face that haunted her dreams. Conjuring Edward's image in her mind's eye was proving increasingly difficult with each intimacy she shared with Daniel.

Unless she stood here… gazing up at Edward's portrait. But even then, she sometimes couldn't quite recall the exact timbre of his voice. The precise cadence of his laugh. The actual way his hair and skin felt beneath her fingertips. Although those lapses in her memories had started before she'd been reacquainted with Daniel during Matthew's house party, there was no denying they'd increased since the handsome earl had come on the scene. No, she couldn't deny that the reality of Daniel's touch was more thrilling than the fading memory of Edward's-a fact that, in spite of her determination to move on, dismayed and frightened her and filled her with a profound sense of guilt.

Yet, despite the dismay, fear, and guilt, she simply could no longer ignore the fact that she hadn't died along with Edward. Or ignore the way Daniel made her feel, which she could sum up in one word.

Alive.

In so many ways. He made her laugh. Dear God, she hadn't laughed in so long. He made her want. And need. Things she'd never thought to want and need again. He made her feel young. And desirable. Made her want to spread her arms and simply twirl in circles of delight, for no other reason than knowing she could. And that he would take her hands and circle about with her. He made her feel…

Not alone.

Yet just when she discovered all this, she'd nearly lost her life. And his was in danger. Please, God, let that madman Tolliver be caught quickly…

She drew a deep breath, then told the portrait, "I've felt nothing save emptiness for three years." Hot moisture pooled in her eyes and she blinked. "Please, please, don't hate me, Edward. This… arrangement between Daniel and I is nothing more than physical. And only temporary. I never wanted to be here without you, but since I am… I'm just so tired of being alone."

Carolyn, my darling… I love you. Be happy.

Edward's last words, uttered with his final breath, whispered through her mind. She wasn't certain what happiness was anymore and certainly doubted she'd find it with this affair, but she knew it would ease the loneliness. Fill a small part of the emptiness. And until Daniel moved on to his next conquest, as she knew he would as soon as he tired of her-which, given his reputation, wouldn't be long-she'd enjoy his company and their time together. And when he moved on, so would she-reenergized and ready to do something worthwhile with her time.

With that settled in her mind, she crossed to her desk to slip the Memoirs into the top drawer. Before doing so, however, she ran the tip of her index finger over the gold lettering on the black leather cover, and images inspired from the book flickered through her mind. All mental pictures she wanted to turn into reality. With Daniel.

A knock sounded and she quickly slid the slim volume beneath several sheets of vellum. After closing the drawer, she called out, "Come in."

Nelson entered, carrying a square silver foil box decorated with an ivory ribbon. "This just arrived for you, my lady." He held out the attractive box, which was just a bit larger than her hand.

Her heart skipped a beat. A present from Daniel? "Thank you, Nelson."

After the butler withdrew, she hurried to her desk, set down the box, then untied the ribbon. She lifted the top, picked up the small note card resting on top of the silver tissue paper, and squinted at the brief message that must have been hastily written, as the ink was badly smudged.

I hope you enjoy these, Daniel.

Smiling in anticipation, she unfolded the tissue paper to reveal a half-dozen pieces of marzipan nestled inside, perfectly formed and decorated in the shapes of miniature fruits. A strong scent of slightly bitter almonds rose from the candy, and she involuntarily wrinkled her nose. Although almond was not her favorite flavor-something Daniel would have no way of knowing-her heart melted at the thoughtful gesture. It had been a long time since a man had sent her candy.

In spite of not particularly liking marzipan, she reached for a piece, in the same spirit she used to slather butter on slices of black-bottomed bread from the loaves Sarah would burn while she perfected her baking skills. Before she could decide between the strawberry or the peach, another knock sounded on the door.

At her bid to enter, Nelson opened the door and walked toward her, this time bearing a silver salver upon which rested a card. "You've another delivery, my lady. In the foyer. This came with it." He extended the salver.

Another delivery? She put the cover back on the candy then slipped the box in the middle drawer. Plucing the folded vellum from the small tray, she broke the wax seal and scanned the neatly scripted words.

For Galatea, from the Highwayman. Because they remind him of you.

Heavens, Daniel had had a busy morning. She read the words again and warmth suffused her. This note was far more personal than the first one, and far more mystifying. She followed Nelson down the corridor. When she stepped into the foyer, she gasped. An enormous bouquet, the largest she'd ever seen, sat upon the cherrywood lanterloo table. The flowers were arranged in a stunning, huge cut crystal vase.

Every single bloom was a blush-colored rose.

Good heavens, there had to be at least ten dozen of them. The man must have beheaded every single rosebush in his conservatory. It was ridiculous and excessive and extravagant.

And wildly romantic.

They remind him of you…

Heat flushed through her entire body. Reaching out, she touched one of the delicate blooms and breathed in the heady fragrance scenting the foyer. A lovely, thoughtful gesture, the second one this morning, from a man she was coming to think of as just that-lovely and thoughtful.

As well as full of surprises. Indeed, she recalled that his plans for them this afternoon were also to be a surprise. Which meant he'd be providing three surprises in one day. And her providing none.

Not a very even score.

An idea formed in her mind and her lips curved upward in a secret smile.

She turned toward Nelson. "Lord Surbrooke will be calling at noon today. I'll receive him in my private sitting room." The drawing room wouldn't do at all for what she had in mind.

"Yes, my lady."

She slid one long-stemmed rose from the vase then headed toward the stairs.

It was time she surprised Daniel. And evened that lopsided score just a bit.

"Lady Wingate will join you shortly," Nelson said to Daniel after showing him into a cozy, tastefully furnished, yet feminine chamber that was clearly Carolyn's private sitting room. Daniel thanked the butler, who then left, closing the door quietly behind him. Surprised, he looked around at Carolyn's inner sanctum, wondering if there was any significance to her receiving him here rather than the drawing room. Not that he minded the extra privacy, especially given the news he had to share with her. He also couldn't deny he was relieved not to have that huge portrait of Edward staring down at them.

Turning in a slow circle, he took in his surroundings. Pale yellow silk covered the walls, which were decorated with gilt-framed watercolors of various plants and flowers. He suspected they were the work of her sister Sarah, who he knew possessed a great talent for such drawings, and upon closer inspection of one noted her signature in the corner.

A floor-to-ceiling bookcase was flanked by tall, dark green velvet draped windows through which skeins of sunshine slanted. A dainty reading and writing table sat in the corner near the window, positioned to perfectly capture the light. In the other corner was a Recamier couch, its rounded contours upholstered in a soft yellow and green stripe. His gaze fell upon a slender silver vase on an inlaid table next to it. The vase held a single flower-one of the blush pink roses from his conservatory. Surely that was a good sign.

A pair of overstuffed wing chairs set before the white marble fireplace in which a fire burned provided a cozy seating area. A large, ornately carved mirror hung above the mantel, upon which an unusual collection of small porcelain birds flocked. Combined with the moss green carpet decorated with pale pink cabbage roses, he felt as if he stood in the midst of an enchanted indoor garden. He breathed deeply and caught a hint of the subtle floral fragrance she wore. A Carolyn-scented indoor garden.

Carolyn… bloody hell, she hadn't been out of his thoughts for so much as a second since he'd left her last night. Since you left her last night? his inner voice echoed in an incredulous tone. She hasn't been out of your thoughts for an instant for a lot longer than that.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Oh, all right, fine. She'd haunted his thoughts a hell of a lot longer, which was uncharacteristic of him. As was the way he'd lost control last night when he'd kissed her. Damn it, he never lost control like that. And as the result of a mere kiss? Unheard of.

Last night wasn't the first time you lost control with her, his inner voice reminded him slyly.

Oh, bloody well all right, fine. But he certainly wouldn't behave like that today. He had the afternoon carefully planned. Today was for getting to know more about her-an enjoyable outing followed by a leisurely seduction. He wouldn't rush her, and he certainly wouldn't pounce upon her like a green lad with no command over his passions.

He heard the door open and turned, a greeting upon his lips, which evaporated, along with his ability to speak, at the sight of her leaning against the oak panel.

Her honey-colored hair was loose, a shiny curtain that fell over her shoulders, the curling ends brushing her hips. And she wore… bloody hell, she wore an ivory satin robe, tied at the waist. And based on the way the material clung to her curves and outlined her pert nipples, that's all she wore. His stupefied stare wandered all the way down to her bare feet, then back up again, where he encountered her gaze, one that simmered with such sensual heat he felt as if his breeches had been lit on fire.

"Hello, Daniel," she said in a warm, sultry tone. He was about to open his mouth to reply, only to discover that at some point his jaw must have dropped because his mouth was already open. If he'd been able to tear his eyeballs away from her, he would have looked on the floor to see if his jaw had fallen to his feet.

She reached behind her and the click of the lock turning reverberated through the quiet room. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and his own labored breathing. If he'd ever in his life seen anything more arousing than Carolyn in that robe, looking at him as if she wanted to toss him onto the nearest couch and have her wicked way with him, he couldn't recall what that thing might be.

Again he tried to speak, but again she robbed him of the ability when she pushed off from the door and moved toward him with a sway of her hips that could only be described as sinful. He was helpless to stop his body's swift reaction, and he inwardly shook his head. Hard as a damn brick and she hadn't even touched him. She halted when an arm's length separated them, and if he'd been capable of moving, he surely would have snatched her against him.

"I believe I was the last one who spoke," she said, sounding faintly amused.

He had to swallow twice to locate his voice. "No doubt because you've rendered me speechless. You look so… so…" Once again his gaze skimmed down her form and a groan rose in his throat. "Like a wicked angel."

"You sent me some lovely gifts this morning."

"If this is your way of thanking me, I'll empty my conservatory of flowers every day."

Mischief danced in her eyes. "I haven't even begun to thank you."

The aplomb she'd momentarily stolen returned-thank God, because she'd reduced him to a slack-jawed gawker-and he erased the distance between them in one step. Sliding his arms around her waist, he drew her closer, until they touched from chest to knee. He lowered his head until his lips hovered just above hers then asked, "What did you have in mind?"

"If I tell you, it will ruin the surprise." She entwined her arms around his neck and rose up on her toes to brush her mouth against his.

A shudder ran through him, and it required every ounce of his strength not to simply back her up against the wall and drive himself into her. Bloody hell, the way she repeatedly stripped him of his mastery over himself, reduced him to such a state and so damn quickly completely unsettled him. Although there was no denying that this playful, seductive side of her delighted as well as surprised him.

Yet even as it did delight him, he couldn't help but wonder if she was truly thinking about him, seeing him-or if he were simply a stand-in for Edward.

A spurt of unreasonable jealousy rippled through him at the thought of her thinking about Edward while she kissed him. Then he shot himself an inward frown. Bloody ridiculous to be jealous of a dead man. He didn't want her heart and soul. Only her body. And clearly he was going to have his wish. He couldn't ask for anything more. He didn't care if she pictured Edward in her mind.

Did he?

No, of course not.

He lifted his head and wondered if something of his thoughts showed on his face because a small frown creased her brow. Leaning back in the circle of his arms, she asked, "Are you displeased?"

His gaze lingered on the generous curve of her breasts pressed against him. "Hardly. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that I am currently the most pleased man in the entire kingdom."

"Excellent." She stepped back and his hands fell to his sides. He locked his knees to keep himself in place. As much as he wanted to drag her to the floor, strip off that robe, and touch and taste every inch of her skin, he also very much wanted to see what she would do next.

He didn't have long to wait.

His gaze dropped to her waist, where her fingers played with her robe's knotted sash. "Your plans for us this afternoon-were they urgent?" she asked.

"Nothing that can't wait."

"Do you like my robe?"

"Very much."

"Would you like me to take it off?"

His gaze lifted to hers. Only more than I want to draw my next breath. "Very much."

Mischief glittered in her eyes and she nibbled on her bottom lip. "The only problem is I'll be… naked."

"Personally, I fail to see how that's a problem."

"Well, it is in so far as you won't be."

"My very dear Carolyn, are you asking me to… disrobe?" He said the last word in an exaggerated, shocked tone.

"If you wouldn't mind too terribly."

"Not too terribly, I suppose-if it will please you."

"Oh, it will please me very much. Although there is one thing that would please me more."

"Hmmm. I'm beginning to think you're rather demanding."

Her lips curved upward in a teasing smile. "Wait until we're both undressed."

A quick laugh that turned into a groan of pure lust escaped him. He'd known from the first time he kissed her that a passionate woman lurked beneath her very proper exterior, but he hadn't anticipated this delightful creature standing before him, her eyes gleaming with wicked impishness. "I cannot wait. What is your request?"

"I'd like to help you undress."

He blew out an exaggerated sigh. "A truly monstrous demand, but I'll endeavor not to complain overly much."

She reached out and traced the outline of his erection with a single fingertip, a whisper of a caress that nearly stopped his heart.

"Good," she said, her voice a sensual purr. Her fingers glided upward, to lightly tug at his jacket. "Would now be convenient?"

"Now is perfect."

She helped him off with his jacket, then carefully laid the dark blue garment over the back of one of the wing chairs. When she applied herself to his cravat, he offered up a quick mental thanks that he hadn't employed a complicated knot.

Still, she seemed to be having trouble, and after several aborted attempts her fingers stilled and she looked up from her task. All traces of mischief in her eyes had been replaced by a serious and suddenly unsure expression. "I… I haven't done this in a very long time," she whispered.

He gently took her hands and lifted them to his lips. "I know. Take your time. There's no need to rush." He gave her a light, teasing nudge with his pelvis. "All physical evidence to the contrary, I'm not in a hurry. I love the feel of your hands on me."

"But what if…" That look of uncertainty grew more pronounced. "What if I don't please you?"

If she hadn't looked so utterly worried, he would have laughed at the absurdity of the question. Releasing her hands, he framed her face between his palms and brushed his thumbs over her smooth cheeks. "Carolyn, there is no possible way you could displease me. If you have any concern, it should be that I will keep you in this room for the next fortnight. Or two. Possibly even three. Maybe more." He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. "Don't stop. And if your hands shake a bit, know that mine are shaking as well. From wanting you so very much."

She lifted her head, and he was relieved to see her eyes no longer held traces of concern. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

"I don't. You simply inspire me." He glanced down at his cravat. "Care to continue what you started?"

"Will you help me?"

"With pleasure."

While she worked on his cravat, he removed his waistcoat and pulled his shirt tails from his breeches. He then settled his hands at his sides and forced himself to wait patiently while she finished. When she finally completed her task, he helped her pull his shirt over his head. The garment sailed to the floor and she settled her hands on his chest. That first touch dragged a low groan from his tight throat.

"Oh, my," she whispered, slowly smoothing her hands upward, over his shoulders.

Oh my, indeed. Her gentle explorations were driving him mad. "I've fantasized about you touching me like this," he said, a shudder running through him.

"You have?"

"More times than I can count." Surely he shouldn't have admitted that, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "The fantasy was always good, but the reality is much more pleasurable than I ever imagined."

Her fingers lightly skimmed over his abdomen, and his muscles jumped in response. "You're very… nicely made."

He settled his hands on her hips and lightly squeezed. "So are you."

She traced the line of skin just above the waist of his breeches. "I'd very much like for these to come off."

"We are in complete agreement." Taking her hand, he led her to the couch, where he sat and pulled off his boots and stockings. Then he stood and together they unfastened the front placard of his breeches. He quickly skimmed them and his smalls down his legs then stepped out of the garments.

The relief he experienced by freeing himself from the constricting confines of his breeches instantly evaporated when she brushed her fingertips over the head of his erection. His eyes slammed shut and he sucked in a hissing breath, one he held when his lungs ceased to function as her fingers slowly glided up and down his length.

Just when he didn't think he could take any more, she stopped, which left him on the brink of begging her to continue. Forcing his eyes open, he watched her pluck the rose from the silver vase. The look she gave him made him feel as if fire licked beneath his skin.

"You demonstrated a new use for roses last night." She slowly circled the velvety flower around the head of his erection. "Turnabout is only fair."

A low groan escaped him. "Turnabout is going to drive me mad."

"I have a confession to make," she whispered, wrapping her fingers around his shaft while she continued to tease the flower around the head.

He locked his knees and released a slow, careful breath. And once again had to recall how to speak. "Confession?" he managed.

"Yes. And it's nowhere near midnight."

"I'm afraid I won't make it that long. Especially if you keep doing-aaaahhhh… that."

"Just as well. You told me confessions at midnight lead to danger."

"Danger. Yes." Which precisely described his current situation-he stood in imminent danger of losing the remainder of his rapidly vanishing control. He gritted his teeth against the intense pleasure her touch and teasing strokes of the rose inflicted upon him. He endured the sweet torture until the need to climax approached overwhelming. Then with a shuddering breath he reached out and lightly grasped her wrists.

"If by danger you mean I'm at risk of arriving unfashionably early to the party." He placed the rose on the table, set her hands at her sides, then reached for the sash on her robe. "You said earlier that it would be a problem if you were the only one who was naked. Now I'm afraid I must say the same thing to you."

"You want me naked?"

He flicked a pointed look at his erection. "Obviously."

A devilish gleam lit her eyes. "How much?"

If she had any idea how much, it might very well scare her. God knows it scared him. The knot came free and he slipped his hands inside the satin and skimmed them up her smooth back.

"I'd be hard pressed to think of anything I want more at the moment," he said, slowly easing the material off her shoulders.

"A million pounds?" she suggested in a teasing voice.

The satin slipped down her arms and pooled at her feet with a quiet shush, and Daniel's avid gaze roamed. Over smooth, creamy skin. Full breasts topped with aroused coral nipples that seemed to beg for his touch. The gentle curve of her waist and indent of her navel. A triangle of honey-gold curls at the apex of lush thighs that tapered down to slim ankles and the dainty arch of her bare feet.

"Once again, I believe it is your turn to speak," she said.

"I would, except it appears I'm completely out of words. Except to say that you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Reaching out, he cupped her breasts. "The softest I've ever touched." He stepped forward then leaned down and touched his lips to the curve where her neck and shoulder met. "You smell so good." His fingers caressed her taut nipples. "Feel so good." He ran his tongue over her plump bottom lip. "Taste so good."

"That's quite a few words. All of which I liked…"

Her words drifted off into a vaporous sigh when he leaned down and drew a nipple into his mouth. While he'd spoken the truth, it would have been far more accurate to say no woman, ever, had felt so good. Tasted so delicious. Ever.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched her back, offering more of herself, an invitation he instantly accepted. He drew the tight bud of her nipple deeper into his mouth while his free hand skimmed down her back to cup the enticing curve of her bottom, urging her closer. His hand wandered lower and hooked beneath her thigh, lifting her leg and settling it high on his hip. His fingers glided over her sex and a growl vibrated in his throat.

Lifting his head, he looked at her flushed face and closed eyes. "You're so wet." He slipped two fingers inside her and she gasped, then groaned. "So tight and hot."

And he was so damn hard and she felt so damn good and he'd wanted her for so damn long. He simply couldn't wait any longer. Bloody hell, he was practically shaking. Slipping his fingers from her body, he scooped her up in his arms then gently laid her on the couch, following her down with his body. Settling himself between her splayed thighs, he propped his weight on his forearms and leisurely rubbed the head of his penis along her wet cleft, watching every nuance that passed over her flushed face.

"Open your eyes, Carolyn."

She dragged her lids upward and their gazes met. Her eyes were glazed with arousal, but she somehow seemed more focused on the act itself rather than who was making love to her. And he wanted her aware, very much aware, of who was making love to her.

"Say my name," he demanded, his voice hoarse, muscles straining with the effort to hold back.

She blinked, then studied his face. After several long seconds she finally whispered, "Daniel."

Something that felt like relief washed through him. He slipped just inside her, then paused. "Say it again."

"Daniel."

He glided in another inch. "Again."

She reached up and sifted her fingers through his hair. "Daniel." Arching beneath him, she repeated, "Daniel… Daniel."

With a groan, he thrust deep. His gaze never leaving hers, he slowly withdrew, gritting his teeth against the erotic, tight pull of her body. Then he stroked her deeply once more, the slow, slick glide into her wet heat peeling away another layer of his control. Again and again he sank into her, each thrust deepening, quickening. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, meeting his every movement. His lungs burned with his rapid breaths, every muscle straining with the effort he expended to hold off his release until she climaxed. The effort damn near killed him.

The instant she arched beneath him, it felt as if lightning struck him, sizzling and exploding through his entire body. Shudders racked him as he drove hard and deep, pounding into her, spilling what felt like his entire soul into her pulsing heat. Tremors still shook him when his head fell limply into the warm curve of her neck and he fought to catch his breath. He wasn't certain how long it took him to find the strength to lift his head. A minute, or perhaps an hour, he didn't know. Couldn't consider anything beyond absorbing the incredible feeling of remaining buried deep inside her snug heat. And another sensation he couldn't name other than to know it felt as if he'd been punched. In the heart.

Finally he lifted his head to look down at her. And froze.

She lay beneath him, staring up at seemingly nothing, tears running from the corners of her eyes.

Guilt smacked him like a brick to the head. Bloody hell, he'd done it again. Completely lost all control. Only this time he'd-

"Carolyn… God, did I hurt you?" He made to move off her, but her arms and legs tightened around him, holding him in place.

She shook her head. "No."

Unconvinced, he gently brushed away the moisture beneath her eyes, but it was instantly replaced by a fresh supply. "Why are you crying?"

Instead of answering, she said, "Thank you."

"Thank you? For making you cry?" Damn it, he felt like a first-class cad.

She nodded. "Yes. I… I never thought I would make love again. Never thought I would want to. You made it… extraordinary. And for that, I thank you."

Relief nearly overwhelmed him, and everything inside him seemed to shift. "Extraordinary," he repeated softly, his gaze roaming her face. "That describes it-and you-perfectly." Indeed he couldn't recall ever speaking truer words. Because making love with Carolyn was… different. He'd surrendered a part of himself, of his control, to their lovemaking that he'd never given up before. A part of himself he hadn't even known existed until it was no longer his.

In the past, after his passion was spent, he was never eager to linger. But with Carolyn, he felt as if he could stay on this couch, buried inside her the entire day. And just look at her. Brush back her shiny hair from her face. He felt a bond with her that he'd never before experienced. An unfamiliar warmth of… something that confused him. But that nonetheless couldn't be denied.

Bloody hell, how was it that this one time with Carolyn had reduced every other sexual encounter he'd ever experienced into an emotionless physical act? A sordid imitation of what it was supposed to be? How was it possible that out of all the affairs he'd engaged in, he'd missed out on this… whatever it was?

"Daniel?"

He blinked away his thoughts and refocused his attention on her. "Yes?"

Her bottom lip trembled. "You've brought me back to life."

His heart seemed to perform a somersault. He searched for his normal lighthearted postcoital persona and came up empty. "Which is precisely what is supposed to happen to Galatea," he said in as breezy a tone as he could muster. "The pleasure was all mine."

"No, it wasn't." She stretched beneath him and flashed a smile. "I feel absolutely marvelous. But I'm famished. Might your plans for us this afternoon include something to eat?"

"As a matter of fact they do. Now that you've had your wicked way with me, shall we get dressed and commence with my plans?"

"All right, although I'm rather disappointed that your plans require us to get dressed."

"You won't be when you see where we're going and what I've planned. But about that getting dressed bit?"

"Yes?"

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. "Don't bother to wear drawers beneath your gown."