"I know." He was undulating like a cat against her, his eyes closed with an expression of pleasure so sensual that it was an arousal in itself. "It's too much, isn't it? It's killing me too. I feel as if I'm going to explode any moment. Just a little more. Lord, you feel good against me." His eyes opened and they were clouded with a smoky intensity. His entire body was hardening against her, muscles taking on a tension that was unbearably exciting for her to feel. He kissed her temple. "Be very still. I want to pet you a little. It won't be long."

Then his hand was running over her with a skilled sensitivity that caused tremors to rack her with every deft stroke. His long, tanned fingers were lifting her breasts, rubbing the undersides with smooth gentle rhythm. She could feel the muscles of her stomach clench. The tension was rising within her until it was painful.

"So pretty." His hand moved down to her stomach. He laughed softly as he felt the tautness beneath his palm. "You're wanting me, aren't you? Do you know how wonderful that makes me feel? How much do you want me?" His fingers moved exploringly down between her thighs, and she gasped as they entered with one smooth stroke and began to move. She buried her head against his chest, her breathing coming in little pants. Unbelievable. It was unbelievable. "I think you want me quite a lot," he said thickly. His other palm was stroking the soft nest of curls, pulling, probing, tugging gently. "But not as much as I want you. It's a physical impossibility. I'm going to go up in smoke in another second. I've never wanted a woman like this before. It's tearing the guts out of me."

Even through the haze that was enveloping her she was conscious of the thread of anger beneath the hoarseness of his voice. Poor Philip, she thought vaguely. He always liked to be in control, but he was caught in the same sensual web that she was. Her lips moved lovingly on his shoulder. "It's all right, Philip. Everything will be fine."

He glanced down at her in surprise. Then, for a moment, there was an expression of exquisite gentleness that transformed the taut hardness of his face. "Yes, everything will be all right," he said huskily.

His arms shifted and tightened, and suddenly he was standing, carrying her toward the bed. He placed her on the cool, silk counterpane, and followed her down. His thighs were on either side of her. She could feel the thin dusting of hair against her own smoothness. Different. So beautifully different.

"Do you know what I'm seeing when I look at you?" He whispered. "Gold. Satin gold skin, silver gold hair." His fingers combed slowly through the thick length of her tresses before bringing two silky locks forward and winding them around her breasts so that only her nipples were revealed. "Just these lovely things are pink." He bent forward, his teeth pulling gently on one taut peak.

He was golden too. The light streaming through the French doors gave his bronzed skin a shining patina and played over the supple muscles of his shoulders. Her hands grasped those shoulders, and she arched up against him as she felt his tongue touching, his teeth nipping, pulling hot wires of sensation that led to every part of her body. "I want to memorize the taste of every sweet part of you. You should be savored." He closed his eyes. "But I'm too hungry. I'm starving to death, Pandora." His hands released her breasts and he was moving between her thighs. "And you are, too, aren't you?"

Hunger. Aching. Yearning to be filled. "Yes, I'm starving too."

He laughed huskily. "God, I love to hear you say that." He leaned forward to kiss her with such loving sweetness that joy welled and flowed, not easing the hunger, but blurring the edges with beauty.

He plunged forward. Pain! It lasted only for a moment, piercing, shocking her. But it was Philip who cried out and froze in her arms. No! He mustn't do that. "It's all right." Her hands released their hold on his shoulders and moved up to caress his cheeks. "Please. It's all right." It was better now, and she began to move, enticing him, reveling in him.

"The hell it is." His face above her was twisted with hunger as well as shock. "It's not all right." She moved again, and a shudder ran through him. "God, don't do that. I can't think."

"Don't think." She tried to tighten, to hold him closer. He made a guttural sound of need. "Just make love to me. I want you so much, Philip. Thisis right. Can't you feel how right it is?" Her voice was shaking with intensity. "Don't think, dammit!"

"Oh, God." His whisper was almost a prayer. "I can't. Not anymore." He flexed slowly, tentatively. Then he thrust forward and was lost. They were both lost in a rhythm so fiery it shimmered like flames. Golden flames in a golden room. Oh, love, Philip. Giving, taking. Flames rising, whirling in a vortex of tension and beauty. Exploding in an ecstasy that lasted forever.

Forever. Yet the room was still bathed in the golden halo of twilight and Philip's hard cheek was resting against her shoulder. His chest was heaving with the harshness of his breathing, and his body was still shuddering with tremors. Her hand went up to stroke the crisp hair at his nape with loving fingers. He felt so much hers at this moment. So close. After all the years he had stood apart from her, just out of reach. Her own at last.

Four

"Why?" His voice was low and intense. He lifted his head, and the harshness of his expression jarred her out of the dreamy euphoria she'd been experiencing. "Dammit, tell me why, Pandora."

"I love you," she said simply. "I always have. I always will."

There was a fleeting expression of shock on his face. "So you yielded your fair young body as some sort of sentimental offering?" He rolled away and got off the bed. He looked down at her. Her body was warm and glowing with loving, her lips soft and swollen. Something hot and wanting leaped into his eyes. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Cover up!" he said jerkily. "The party's over."

Yes, the party was over. She had known what his reaction would be, but foreknowledge didn't make his sudden rejection more bearable. She obediently pulled the satin sheet over herself.

He strode toward the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder with a menacing frown. "You didn't answer me."

"No, it wasn't a sentimental offering." Her eyes met his with clear honesty. "I tricked you."

His soft exclamation was followed by a violent curse as he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door. He was back in two minutes, wearing a pearl gray velour robe. He sat down beside her and gripped her shoulders firmly, anchoring her in place. "Talk," he grated through his teeth. "It just may stop me from strangling you."

"What do you want me to say?"

"You might start with Luis Estavas, my chaste little Pandora."

"He was with the Brazilian polo team," she said quietly. "Your detective should have looked into those weekend jaunts a little more closely."

"Horses," he said disgustedly. "I should have known it was horses. Danford?"

"A ranch in Texas." A tiny smile curved her lips.

"Horses, again." His lips tightened. "Sabine? Don't tell me, let me guess. When he's not a rock star he moonlights as a jockey?"

She shook her head. "He's a good friend and agreed to be part of the setup."