"I didn't think you did," she said dumbly.

He leaned down a few inches. "What I do want to do is kiss you."

She didn't move, couldn't move, so mesmerized was she by the blazing light in his eyes.

"And I think you want me to kiss you, too."

Tremulously, she nodded.

He closed the distance between them until his lips were resting gently against hers. He explored her slowly and teasingly, demanding nothing of her that she wasn't prepared to give. Henry could feel her entire body tingle. Every inch of her was alive with the heat of his body. Her lips parted slightly, and a soft moan escaped.

The change in Dunford was instantaneous. That tiny, whimpering sound of desire triggered something deep and desperate within him, and he became a fierce aggressor, branding her body with his own. His hands were everywhere—exploring the gentle curve of her waist, running up and down the smooth length of her legs, sinking into the heavy mass of her hair. He groaned her name over and over, almost like a litany of desire. It was as if he were drowning; clinging to her was his only means of staying afloat.

And then, once again, it wasn't enough.

His fingers, surprisingly nimble, slipped the buttons of her nightgown loose, and he spread the thin, white cotton open.

He sucked in his breath. "My God, Henry," he whispered reverently. "You're beautiful."

Her hands moved reflexively to cover herself, but he held them away, saying, "Don't. They're perfect."

Henry laid perfectly still, uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze. She felt too bare and exposed. "I-I can't," she finally said, trying to push her nightgown back up.

"Yes," he murmured, realizing that her discomfort stemmed more from her feelings of vulnerability than from fear of their intimacy. "You can." He covered one of her breasts with his large hand, deriving an inordinate amount of pleasure from the way her nipple puckered under his touch.

He leaned down, just barely catching the disbelieving expression on her face as he took one peak into his mouth. She gasped and bucked beneath him. Her hands clutched at his head, and he got the feeling she wasn't certain whether she was trying to pull him closer or push him away. He teased her puckered skin, running his tongue around its perimeter as his hands squeezed the gentle roundness of her breasts.

Henry wasn't sure if she was dead or alive. She didn't particularly feel as if she were dead, but she'd never been dead before, so how would she know? And she had certainly never experienced such intense feelings while alive.

Dunford dragged his head up and peered into her face. "What are you thinking about?" he asked huskily, amused and curious about the odd expression on her face.

"You wouldn't believe it," she said with a shaky laugh.

He quirked a smile, deciding he'd rather continue his amorous activities than pursue the topic further. With a delighted growl, he moved his head to her other breast, teasing it until it reached the same state of arousal as the first. "You like that, do you?" he murmured, hearing her little whimpers of pleasure. Feeling an overwhelming sense of pure affection for her, he moved back up and nuzzled her nose. "Did I remember to tell you in the last five minutes that I love you?"

Unable to suppress a smile, she shook her head.

"I love you."

"I love you, too, but..." Her words trailed off, and she looked embarrassed.

"But what?" He touched her cheek, moving her face slightly so that she could not avoid looking him in the eye.

"I was just wondering...that is..." She stopped and bit her lip before continuing with, "I just want to know if there is anything I can, that is to say—"

"Out with it, minx."

"Anything I can do for you," she finished, closing her eyes since he would not allow her to look away.

His body tightened. Her shy, unpracticed words aroused his desire like nothing he could have imagined. "You'd better not," he said hoarsely. At her look of rejection, he continued, "Later, though. Definitely later."

She nodded, seeming to understand. "Then would you kiss me again?" she whispered.

She was half dressed, flushed with desire, and under him, and he was madly in love with her. There was no way he could deny her request. He kissed her again with all the emotion pulsing through his soul, one hand gently teasing her breasts and the other twisting through her hair. He kissed her endlessly, barely able to believe that one set of lips could be so fascinating, that he didn't need to move back to her neck or ears or breasts.

But his hands were another story, and he could feel one of them dipping ever lower, past the smooth, flat planes of her abdomen to the soft, curly thatch that covered her womanhood. She stiffened, but not very much; he had already torn down most of her restraint by making love to her breasts. "Shhh, my love," he whispered. "I just want to touch. God, I need to touch you."

Henry responded to the fierce emotion in his voice; she felt the same passion flowing through her own body. She was telling herself to relax when he lifted his head, stared deeply into her eyes, and said, "May I?"

His voice was so achingly humble and full of respect she thought she might shatter. Jerkily she nodded, thinking that, of course, this would feel nice. It was Dunford, and he would never do anything to hurt her. It would be nice. It would be nice.

She was wrong.

She nearly screamed from the spasms of pleasure that shot through her at his touch. "Oh my God,'' she gasped. "Nice" could not even begin to describe what he was doing to her. It was too good, too much. Her body couldn't take it. She began to scoot away from him, thinking she would surely explode if he continued this sweet torture.