She ignored the chair he'd indicated and walked to the fireplace, deliberately turning her back to him. He noticed that she moved with a bolder step than most women. She also didn't try to position herself in a way that showed off her fashionable gown to best advantage. It was as if her clothing were merely something to toss on in the morning and, once she'd done up the fastenings, to forget.
He decided to press her. 'Your name?'
'Is it important?' Her voice was low, husky, and distinctly Southern.
'Maybe.'
'I wonder why.'
Cain was intrigued as much by the provocative way she avoided answering his question as by the faint fragrance of jasmine that drifted from her skirts and tugged at his senses. He wished she'd turn back around so he could get a closer look at the captivating features he could only glimpse behind the veil.
'A lady of mystery,' he mocked softly, 'coming into the enemy's lair without a zealous mother to serve as chaperone. Not wise at all.'
'I don't always behave wisely.'
Cain smiled. 'Neither do I.'
His gaze slipped from that silly dab of a hat to the coil of silky dark hair resting on the nape of her neck. What would it look like unfastened and tumbling over naked white shoulders? His jolt of arousal told him he'd been without a woman too long. Although even if he'd had a dozen the night before, he knew this woman would still have stirred him.
'Should I expect a jealous husband to come banging on my door looking for his wayward wife?'
'I have no husband.'
'No?' He suddenly wanted to test the limits of her self-confidence. 'Is that why you're here? Has the supply of eligible men in the county dipped so low that well-bred Southern ladies are forced to scout in the Yankee's lair?'
She turned. Through her veil he could just make out flashing eyes and a small nose with delicately flaring nostrils.
'I assure you, Major Cain, I'm not here to scout for a husband. You have an elevated opinion of yourself.'
'Do I?' He moved closer. His legs brushed her skirt.
Kit wanted to step back, but she held her ground. He was a predator, and like all predators, he fed off the weakness of others. Even the smallest retreat would be a victory for him, and she wouldn't show him any vulnerability. At the same time, his nearness made her feel slightly dizzy. The sensation should have been unpleasant, but it wasn't.
'Tell me, mystery lady. What else would a respectable young woman be doing visiting a man by herself?' His voice was deep and teasing, and his gray eyes glimmered with a devilry that made her blood rush faster. 'Or is it possible that the respectable young lady isn't as respectable as she seems to be?'
Kit drew up her chin and met his gaze. 'Don't judge others by your own standards.'
The untamed part of him responded to the same quality he sensed in her. What would it be like to work his way past those thorns and pluck this wild rose of the deep wood?
Even before he moved, Kit understood that something was about to happen. She wanted to break away, but her legs wouldn't respond. As she gazed up into that chiseled face, she tried to remember this man was her deadly enemy. He controlled everything that was dear to her: her home, her future, her very freedom. But she'd always been a creature of instinct, and her blood had begun to roar so loudly in her head that it was blotting out her reason.
Slowly Cain lifted his scarred hand and cupped the side of her neck. His touch was surprisingly gentle and maddeningly exciting. She knew she had to pull back, but her legs, along with her will, refused to obey.
He lifted his thumb and slid it upward along the curve of her jaw and under the edge of the honeycombed veil. It dipped into the valley behind the lobe of her ear. He caressed the silky hollow, sending quivers coursing through her.
He brushed the delicate shells of her ears and the tendrils of curl that feathered around her small jet ear-bob. His quiet breathing rippled the bottom edge of her veil. She tried to move away, but she was paralyzed. Then he lowered his lips.
His kiss was gentle and persuading, nothing at all like the wet, grinding assault from Hamilton Woodward's friend. Her hands lifted of their own accord and clasped his sides. The feel of warm-muscled flesh through the thin material of his shirt became part of the kiss. She lost herself in a swelling sea of sensation.
His lips opened and began to move over her closed ones. He curved his hand along the delicate line of her spine to the small of her back. The narrow space between their bodies disappeared.
Her head swam as his chest pressed her breasts, and his hips settled against the flatness of her stomach. The moist tip of his tongue began its gentle sorcery, sliding leisurely between her lips.
The shocking intimacy inflamed her. A wild rush of hot sensation poured through every part of her body.
And through his.
They lost their identities. For Kit, Cain no longer had a name. He was the quintessential man, fierce and demanding. And for Cain, the mysterious veiled creature in his arms was everything that a woman should be… but never was.
He grew impatient. His tongue began to probe more deeply, determined to slip past the barrier of her teeth and gain full access to the sweet interior of her mouth.
The unaccustomed aggression brought a flicker of sanity to Kit's fevered mind. Something was wrong…
He brushed the side of her breast, and reality returned in a cold, condemning rush. She made a muffled sound and sprang back.
Cain was more shaken than he cared to admit. He'd found the thorns of his wild rose much too soon.
She stood before him, breasts heaving, hands balled into fists. With a pessimistic certainty that the rest of her face could never live up to the promise of her mouth, he reached out and pushed the veil up onto the brim of her hat.
Recognition didn't come instantly. Maybe it was because he took in the separate features of her face instead of the whole. He saw the smooth, intelligent forehead, the thick, dark slashes of eyebrows, the heavily lashed violet eyes, the determined chin. All of it, together with that wild-rose mouth from which he'd drunk so deeply, spoke of a vivid, unconventional beauty.
Then he felt an uneasiness, a nagging sense of familiarity, a hint of something unpleasant lurking on the other side of his memory. He watched the nostrils of her small, straight nose quiver like the wings of a hummingbird. She set her jaw and lifted her chin.
In that instant, he knew her.
Kit saw his pale gray irises rim with black, but she was too stricken by what had passed between them to step away. What had happened to her? This man was her mortal enemy. How could she have forgotten that? She felt sick, angry, and more confused than she'd ever been.
A disturbance came from the hallway-a series of rapid clicks, as if a sack of parched corn was being spilled on the wooden floor. A streak of black-and-white fur darted into the room, then skidded to a stop.
The dog cocked his head to study her, but it didn't take him nearly as long to guess her identity as it had Cain. With three barks of recognition, he raced over to greet his old friend.
Kit fell to her knees. Oblivious to the damage his dusty paws were inflicting on her dove-gray traveling dress, she hugged him and let him lap her face. Her hat fell to the carpet, loosening her carefully arranged hair, but she didn't care.
Cain's voice intruded on their reunion like a polar wind over a glacier. 'I see finishing school hasn't improved you. You're still the same headstrong little brat you were three years ago.'
Kit looked up at him and said the first thing that came to mind. 'You're just mad because the dog's smarter
