But she knew he would make sure she liked him. He was like one of those powerful ancient mandarins Li Sung had told her about, effortlessly casting spells, mesmerizing his subjects.

Yet she was no helpless simpleton. She had the strength to fight him ... if she wished.

If she wished? It was the first time she had admitted to doubt, and a sudden stream of relief cascaded through her. He was right, she was weary of fighting him. Why not let him have his way? One time, and he would no doubt grow bored, as men always did when their needs were assuaged, and she would be done with him.

He was unbuttoning her shirt.

Her eyes flew open.

"Shh." His face was only inches from her own, his fingers deft and quick on the buttons. "I want only to see you. I didn't get the chance at Zabrie's, but I believe today you may be in a mood to be more generous." He parted the edges of her shirt and looked at her. "Oh, yes, very generous." He bent forward, his breath feathering her engorged nipple. "Now, let me—"

She cried out, arching back against the mare's saddle, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as sensation after sensation poured through her.

He sucked slowly, sensuously. "Good," he muttered. "So good."

His hand slid beneath her belt and found the curls surrounding her womanhood, petting, tugging. "Part your legs. That's right, now a little more."

Her knees almost gave way as he found the nub for which he had been searching.

Her neck arched. A primal cry tightened her throat as he began pressing, plucking.

He lifted his head. Beautiful, she thought dazedly, she had never seen any sight as beautiful as Ruel at this moment, his cheeks flushed pomegranate-bright, his blue eyes glittering.

"Not here in the rain." His hand left her and he quickly buttoned her shirt. "We need to go somewhere." He lifted her onto Bedelia and quickly saddled and mounted Nugget. "And, for God's sake, don't change your mind."

She wasn't sure she had a mind to change. She felt blank, dazed, responding only to touch, like an animal in heat.

He gave Bedelia's rump a slap to urge her into a gallop. "Only a little while longer," he said hoarsely. "Hold on."

Hold on to what? she wondered. She was without a mooring, floating helplessly on the tide Ruel had ignited.

"Wait." He nudged his horse closer, his hand reaching out to slide up her thigh and cup her womanhood. His nostrils were flaring, his cheeks hollowed as if from a terrible hunger. "I didn't have enough. I have to touch you. God, I want in." He squeezed slowly and then released, squeezed again. "Do you know what I'd like to do? I want to drag you down in the mud and strip off your clothes. I want you naked and wanting, holding up your hips, asking me for more."

The rawness of the words should have offended her. They did not. A thrill of heat shot through her.

His hand fell away and he muttered something she couldn't hear. "Let's go, I can't wait much longer."

The rain was falling as heavily as ever, but it didn't cool her. She felt as if nothing could ever cool her again. "Where are we going?"

"The railway station." He spurred ahead. "It's closer."

It didn't seem close. By the time they reined in at the station platform, she was trembling and shaking, as if with the fever.

"Hurry," he said jerkily as he lifted her down. "Where are the keys?"

The maharajah's car. He wanted the keys to the railway car. She fumbled in the pocket of her sodden denim trousers as he propelled her across the platform toward the maharajah's private car. He grabbed the keys, unlocked the gold door, and pulled her inside. He slammed the door behind them.

The car was in half darkness, the light streaming through the window gray and bleak, the raindrops running down the glass veiling the interior from the outside world.

"Hurry." Ruel stripped off his shirt and threw it on the carpet. "God, just listen to me. I promised you it wouldn't be fast and I'm like all the others. But I'll try . . ." He turned and saw that she hadn't moved. "Why aren't you undressing?"

She couldn't seem to move. She was aching, still hot with the same fever, but found herself unable to look away from him. She had never seen anyone so alive, so charged with emotion. She could feel his need and passion. He blazed like a thousand burning candles in the pearly dimness.

"Don't tell me you've changed your mind. I couldn't . . ." He stepped closer, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt, his tone velvet-soft, almost crooning. "Did I frighten you? I promise you'll like me. We have only to get past the first time, and I'll keep my word."

His brown hair was wet, and she couldn't distinguish the golden threads she knew ran through it. His magnificent face was alight, his eyes shimmering as he exerted a magnetism so strong, she could only stare at him, mesmerized.

He peeled the wet shirt off her and dropped it on the floor. He slowly bent forward and his warm lips brushed the hollow of her left shoulder.

A shudder went through her. The touch was much less intimate than the ones that had gone before, but somehow was more boldly sensual.

"I'm hurting so much, I don't think I can hold on for very long until—" He broke off and laughed harshly as he looked down at his hands. "Christ, look at me. I'm trembling. You'll have to do the rest yourself."

His confession of weakness broke the spell. Her hands were also trembling as they went to her belt. She felt weak, helpless, wax-pliable, her heart pounding as hard as the rain on the metal roof. Dear heaven, she wanted his hands on her again. She had to rid herself of these clothes, rid herself of barriers so that he would touch her.

"That's right." His tone was coaxing, encouraging, as he sat down on the divan and took off his boots. "It's going to be fine. You know we both want this." He paused, half undressed, his gaze on the fleece surrounding her womanhood. "Soft," he whispered. "I remember how soft. ..."

Heat moved through her, and she clenched as if his hand were still there between her thighs, searching, caressing.

He saw the movement and a muscle jerked in his cheek. "Come here."

She moved toward him, obeying without question, vaguely aware of the softness of the carpet under the soles of her bare feet. She stopped before him.

He gently parted her thighs, and his hand cupped her as he had before.

Pleasure, need, hunger.

"You want me?" His finger rotated, pressed..

She shuddered. "Yes."

"You want to draw me in and hold me?"

"Yes."

"Fast? Hard?"

"Yes."

He pushed her gently down on the divan and was between her thighs. "Then take me," he said hoarsely as he nudged into her womanhood.

She gasped as she felt the intrusion, warm, smooth, club-hard.

He frowned. "Don't fight me. I'm not going to hurt you. Let me in."

"I'm not fighting you," she said. If anything, she was fighting to take him, accept more.

"Too tight," he muttered. "You have to be fight—" His hips thrust powerfully forward.

At the sudden pain, her teeth sank into her lower lip to keep from crying out.

His head snapped up and he looked down at her. "No!"

He was sheathed deep within her, a part of her yet not part of her.

His light eyes blazed down at her. "I can't stop, dammit. It's too late now. I have to go on."

"I know you do." She swallowed. The pain was going away, leaving only an ache for completion in its wake. "I know. . . ."