“Steve?” He glanced up, firelight reflected in his eyes as he met her gaze with a quizzically lifted brow. “Steve, I want honesty from you. I want you to tell me only the truth.”
“Haven’t I always?”
Irritation knifed through her, displacing the serenity. “No, you haven’t, as you very well know. Always before we’ve degenerated into recriminations or excuses. If I ask you something that’s very important to me, will you give me an honest answer, even if you don’t want to?”
His hand stilled, heat and hardness against her thigh. “If it’s important to you, it’s important enough to me to be honest with you, Ginny.”
“A politician’s answer.”
“Christ, Ginny. Yes, I’ll answer honestly. What do you want to know?”
She thought of Elizabeth Cady Burneson, but could not bring herself to ask him about her. Instead, she thought of all the times he had made her feel so powerless, so helpless and at the mercy of his whims.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t come to London for the children? Would you have looked for me?”
“Yes.” His thumb rotated against the sensitive curve of her knee for a moment before he glanced up at her. “I did come after you, but you’d already fled Stamboul, remember?”
“Yes, I remember you telling me that.” It was an answer yet not an answer. Disconcerted, she closed her eyes again and gave herself up to the soothing sensations he created with his massage.
“Ginny, if you’re worried that I’ll drag you somewhere you don’t want to go, or make you do something you don’t want to do, I won’t.”
Not daring to open her eyes, she murmured, “What’s happened to change you?”
“All the times I forced you to go with me, made love to you when you fought me—yes, even raped you—I was wrong. My grandfather nearly disowned me because of how I treated you, and he was right. I can’t undo everything I’ve done, but I won’t force you to do anything against your will ever again.”
Her eyes slowly opened. Steve was staring at her, his eyes level with hers, his hands still now, resting on her knees. Then he leaned forward.
He drew his hand down her face, his fingers lightly skimming the sculpted bones of her cheeks, then the slope of jaw. He dragged his thumb over her mouth, smearing moisture over the curve of her lower lip. The fire crackled and popped, curls of smoke drifting skyward, and the sound of the waterfall was a constant drumming rhythm.
“I want to kiss you, Ginny.”
His whisper fanned against her cheek, and she tilted her face upward.
Leaning forward, he kissed her, his mouth traveling from her lips to her ear, then down over the arch of her throat to linger, his tongue washing over her in leisurely, heated circles. When her breath grew a little ragged he said against her throat, “I want you to kiss me, Ginny. Will you?”
His soft question was unexpected. She hesitated, then found his mouth with her own. She kissed him, let him kiss her, his free hand moving behind her neck to hold her in a light clasp. Breathless, some of her restraint melted away.
For the first time in their relationship, she felt in control of herself and the situation. It was a heady emotion after all the years of uncertainty, of frustration and defeat.
As her breath came faster, the hot sweeping rush of desire rose high, so that when Steve lay her gently back on the blankets, she made no protest. The fire was lower now, its light faint and wavering, rosy pools ringed with shadows. His hand explored her body, slow velvety caresses followed by fierce, needy kisses, a stimulating contradiction that sent shivers of desire through her.
When he began to pull the camisa over her head, she put a hand on his arm. Immediately, he paused.
“Only if you want it, Ginny.”
“If I tell you to stop, you will?”
“Yes. If that’s what you want.” He released the light cotton, watching her in the soft gloom of fire and shadows.
“I’m not sure what I want.” It was true. Part of her wanted to yield, to give herself up to the exhilarating oblivion he could so easily induce, but another part of her was still testing the boundaries of their relationship.
Steve sat up, raked a hand through his hair, his smile taut as he blew out a breath. “I know what I want, but what is more important is how you feel, Ginny.”
Amazed, she laughed softly. “I never thought I’d hear you say anything like that, Steve Morgan!”
“That makes two of us, green-eyes.”
Relaxed again, sharing laughter, she leaned into him, this time with no reservations as he held her and stroked her gently. When his hands moved to cup her breasts, teasing her taut nipples until they swelled, she reveled in it, in the power she had to make Steve’s breath come swift and harsh, to see the naked passion in his face. Her breasts throbbed, and a slow, steady pulse ignited between her thighs, spread through her body when he kissed her burning flesh gently, drawing the taut button of her nipples into his mouth, until she forgot everything but the delicious sweep of sensations.
At last he stretched out beside her, and she arched her body up for his touch. Her earlier fear had vanished forever, the nightmares fading at last. There was only room for Steve now, and he filled the night with his caresses, her world with reassurances.
“Oh, yes, Steve…please…?”
He answered her plea with his body, as he had so many times before, their joining one of mutual need and passion.
He kissed her. Then the delicious friction of him sliding insider her was a vivid reminder that this was Steve, the man she had loved for so long, the man she had never been able to forget for even a day.
For the first time since she had met
