And he did, too, she realized. The whiskey flavor was no longer offensive, but intoxicating. Unconsciously, she lifted her hand to his face and slipped her fingers into the soft silver of his hair to deepen the kiss.

His moan of response emboldened her, and when he shifted her to lie on top of him, she cooperated gladly. His tongue was doing such marvelous things inside her mouth that she barely noticed the way his hands had rearranged her nightdress until one of them cupped her bare bottom. Her breath caught in her throat as a thousand sensations rippled through her, every one of them deliciously pleasant.

He moaned again, coaxing her until her legs parted and she was straddling him. She felt the heat of him, and sensed the strength beneath her, strength willingly restrained. Testing her own power, she tightened the grip of her knees against his flanks and playfully nuzzled her hips to his. He made a strangled sound down in his throat and retaliated by clutching at her thighs. His rough fingers mercilessly teased the sensitive inner flesh until her hips bucked against his out of need. And all the time his mouth continued to play with hers, tasting and probing and nipping, until she thought she might well drown in the wonder of it.

Then the whole world turned upside down, and he was looming over her, a faceless silhouette in the darkness. "I'm going to take your nightdress off," he whispered raggedly.

"Are you?" she asked faintly, vaguely aware that he was already working at the buttons.

He did not bother to reply. In a few more moments, the garment slipped over her head, leaving her naked and aching with need. Grateful for the darkness that hid her body, she was equally grateful that it hid her face. Surely her love for him must show in her eyes. It heated her blood until she feared her very skin might glow.

Knowing that her secret was safely hidden, she reached for him hungrily. He came to her, but it was he who devoured. His fevered kisses rained over her body, exploring every inch of her. When she was a quivering mass of desire, he leaned down to taste of that desire.

The shock of his touch shook her, and she cried out with the force of her pleasure. He lifted her higher and higher until she knew she could not stand another moment.

"Please!" she begged.

"Please, what?" he teased, his breath a scorching torment against her throbbing flesh.

"Please!" she repeated, not knowing the words to ask for what she wanted.

But he understood. Slowly, torturously, he stroked his way up her body. Her hands clutched at him in a silent entreaty to hurry, but he took his time. When his face was over hers, she felt the gentle nudging below. Her hands grasped his hips to urge him on, but he held back.

Josh stared down at her, trying futilely to see her face. His own control was dangling by a single thread of willpower, but he needed one thing from her first. "My name. Say my name," he rasped.

"Please!" she almost sobbed. "Please, Joshua."

He filled her in one swift thrust, but even that was not enough for her. She wrapped her legs around him in an effort to draw him even closer, into her heart. Into her soul.

This time there were no colored lights, only a blinding flash of brilliance that seemed to consume them both in a white-hot flame. Felicity fell into a contented sleep in the afterglow.

Candace hummed softly as she made her way to her tiny cabin behind the main house. The last of the guests had gone, so she no longer needed to stand guard over the master bedroom. She smiled again over the memory of her own reaction to the loud thump she had heard from that room earlier. Rushing to listen at the door, she had caught Mr. Josh's outraged."Somebody cut the ropes!" That, she realized, would explain why the Delano woman had been looking for a sharp knife earlier in the day.

Remembering the sounds of laughter she had heard next from the bedroom made her chuckle. She was still chuckling when she entered her cabin. The single room was pitch-dark, but Candace moved with the confidence of familiarity over to where a lamp rested on a table in the center of the small room. Feeling for a match, she struck it and lighted the lamp.

"Hello," a masculine voice said from the shadows behind her.

Candace cried out in alarm, the lamp chimney slipping from her startled fingers. It smashed onto the floor as she whirled to face the voice.

The man stepped into the circle of light. An evil smile twisted his coffee-colored face, and his brown eyes glittered ominously.

Candace looked up at that face. "Who are you?" she asked with false bravado, one dark hand pressed to her clamoring heart.

The man stepped closer, making Candace aware of how huge he was, how powerful. And how dangerous. "Don't you know me, Mama?" he asked, tilting his head as if such a possibility were inconceivable.

Candace stared at him. The flickering lamp cast eerie shadows over the room, increasing her sense of unreality while she studied the stranger's face, a face that was as familiar as her own. "Jeremiah," she whispered, not wanting to believe it but knowing she was right all the same. Jeremiah. Her Jeremiah. But not at all the way she remembered him.

"Ah, so you do remember me," he said, taking another step toward her. Instinctively, she backed away until she bumped the table. Her hands clutched convulsively against its edge. "I thought maybe you'd forgotten that you even had a son," he added, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"No!" she said, and her mother's heart echoed, "Never!"

But something told her not to say it to him, not to reveal the depth of her emotions. The fright she had felt upon first hearing his voice only increased now that she knew his identity and heard the hatred in his voice. "What… what are you doing in Texas?" she asked, trying to still the tremor in her own voice but only partially Succeeding.

"This and that. Mostly I came to see the place that might've been my home if my loving mama had brought me along with her when she left." His lips were still twisted in that parody of a smile, but Candace could feel the hate emanating from him like a palpable force. She swallowed to ease her dry throat.

"I couldn't bring you here. You must know that," she said, still trying to remain calm. Surely someone had explained it to him, how she had begged to bring him along and how they had refused to let her. How she had left him with her mother to raise, knowing that at least he would be well loved and taken care of.

If so, he gave no indication. Instead he said, "I also wanted to see Joshua Logan, the boy you raised instead of me."

The implication was vicious and Candace gasped. "I didn't-" she began, but he cut her off.

"Oh yes, you did," he corrected maliciously, closing the small distance remaining between them. "And don't try to tell me they wouldn't let you come back home. Mrs. Logan told me different. She was only too happy to tell me different, time and time again, over and over and over." His hands came up, clutching at her shoulders until Candace cried out in pain. "She told me how she wanted you to come back with her, back home to your son, but you wouldn't come. You wouldn't leave the other boy."

The loathing in his eyes was a flame that seared her very soul, but that pain was nothing compared to the old agonies she had endured, the agony of leaving him behind in the first place, so long ago. She had to make him understand. "But you were twelve years old then, practically a man, and I'd been gone since you were three. You wouldn't even have known me! And you didn't need me! You had my mother and my sisters. They raised you! They loved you, didn't they?" she challenged.

Something flickered in those hate-filled eyes, a hint of secret torments, and Candace continued desperately. "Joshua was so little and he didn't have anyone! His mother left him and he only had his father…"