tempting as original sin.
'Tess, don't you see? I'm trying to let you go!' She paused, and it
seemed that she waited upon her toes, as if she would go or stay
according to the way the breeze came.
There was a curiously soft smile on her face, almost wistful, a look he
had seldom seen.
'What if I don't want to be let go?' she asked him very quietly, with a
breathless, melodic whisper. He wasn't sure he had really heard the
words.
Real or not, they ignited embers within him. He came to his feet and
looked at her across the small, shadowed distance that separated them.
He could almost reach out and touch her. If he did, he would be lost. If
he put his hands upon her now, he would never let her go.
'You have to make up your mind.' He almost growled the words.
'No strings, no promises, no guarantees. You should run. You should run
from me just as fast as one of those thoroughbreds of yours.'
'Why?'
She didn't move; she hadn't taken a step. There was a note of amusement
and challenge in her voice. Her chin was raised high; her eyes were
brilliant, nearly coal-black in the shadows. He forced himself to walk
around her, but that was a mistake. The moon was filtering through the
windows, and the light played havoc with the flannel gown she wore.
Light touched fabric, molded it, saw through it. He felt again the
softness of the woman he had held, and his hands itched to touch her
again. A hunger took root inside him, one that made him long to caress
and taste and know.
'Why?' He repeated her question.
The reasons were swiftly leaving his mind. If she was willing, he was
more than anxious to drown in the sweet depths of her fascinating
waters. He clenched his fingers and kept moving casually.
'Because we're in a barn, because I've the distinct feeling you don't
know what you're doing, because you're young and because you're probably
the type of woman who ought to fall in love, deeply in love, with the
right man, and have a band of gold, and all the rest. Because I'm the
hardened refuse of an ill-fated war, and though I don't mind a fight, I
wouldn't be looking for more than a lover.'
She smiled.
'Lieutenant, what makes you think I'd be looking for anything more than
a lover?'
He almost groaned aloud. If she didn't leave soon. 'Tess, I don't think
you know' -- 'I'm twenty-four, Lieutenant. And just as much the refuse
of an ill-fated war as you are. That war taught me a great deal. You
can't always wait to seize what you want. Life is too short, too quickly
severed.'
She was smiling still, and there was something poignant about her words
that caught hold of his heart. He had never seen her more beautiful,
more feminine, more arresting. Her eyes were wide; her smile was gentle;
her still form was compelling in the flannel that was draped over her
shoulders, nearly falling from them, that conformed to the rise of her
breasts, then fell to the floor. Her hair was a river of dating, honeyed
