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  Slater held the other end of rope with both hands, his heels planted firmly in the ground. With the last of her strength, Victoria began to kick. She had to help him, or the force of the water might carry both of them away. She held on to the rope with both hands and kicked through the water desperately. Slater backed up, digging in his heels and dragging the rope with him, slipping in the mud, then regaining his footing over and over again, until he reached a large rock. Bracing himself against the rock, he began to haul the rope in hand over hand.

  It was a slow, agonizing process—the current was strong. But at last, as Victoria neared the bank, she was able to find her footing and climb up onto the bank as Slater pulled. When she came out of the water, the release was so sudden and great that Slater stumbled backward and went down in the mud. Victoria crawled up to him, too exhausted to stand. He reached out and jerked her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

  Heedless of the rain and the mud, they sat there, Slater gently rocking Victoria in his arms. “Thank God. Victoria. You scared me to death.” He punctuated his words with brief, hard kisses all over her hair and face. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  Slater’s heart was pounding so hard that it seemed it might leap out of his chest, and his stomach was a solid block of ice. He’d never been as scared in his life as he had been during the past few minutes—not even in the midst of battle, when men were falling all around him. Victoria said nothing. She couldn’t. She could only shudder and cling to him.

  Slater kissed her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up, and he kissed her on the mouth. It was a deep, driving kiss, a kiss born of fear and the need to reassure himself that they were both alive. Victoria’s arms flew up around his neck, and she answered him with the same fervor. She strained against him, and his arms tightened around her. The life force pulsed inside them, fierce and strong, routing the fear of death. He worked his mouth against hers with no regard for gentleness, restraint or reason. His legs wrapped around hers, pressing her into him so that she felt the hard bulge of his masculinity. But Victoria didn’t recoil from his ardor; she savored the unmistakable proof of his desire, moving her hips so that her body rubbed against his.

  Slater groaned. He kissed her again and again. He wanted to be inside her; he yearned to fill her and feel her close tightly around him. It was almost a physical pain not to be part of her. He rolled over on top of her, grinding his pelvis into her. He felt strong and primitive and hungry. He had almost lost her, and now he was desperate to have her. He wanted to make Victoria part of him, as if that would ensure that he wouldn’t lose her again.

  But the cold wind and the hard, drenching rain on his back finally penetrated the thick haze of his desire. This was neither the time nor the place, and he had to overcome the savage masculinity that was pumping through him now. He couldn’t take Victoria here in the mud and the rain, stealing her virginity while she was filled with gratitude for him. He broke off their kiss and buried his face in her neck, willing the storm in him to subside enough that he could let go of her.

  “We need,” he panted at last, “to find shelter. We have to get you dry and warm.”

  His arms eased around her, but for an instant Victoria held on stubbornly. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to release him. But she was also shivering in the cold and from the shock of her experience, and she knew he was right. Reluctantly she dropped her arms.

  He helped her up. Both horses were standing nearby, their backs to the wind, miserably wet. Slater mounted and took Victoria up in front of him, cradling her against his chest. He refused to let her out of the protection of his arms. Victoria leaned against him, happy to be coddled for once. She was exhausted and cold, and she wanted nothing but to be close to Slater.

  When he had pulled her from the water and taken her in his arms, she had gone to him as if he were her home, her life. She had known then, in that moment of utter, raw honesty, that she loved him.

  She wondered how she could have been so blind as not to have seen it before this. He had maddened and provoked her precisely because he was the man for her. He was the first man she had ever met who was strong enough for her, who had the kind of courage, honor and grit she needed. Because of that, they had clashed enormously. He was the only man who had threatened her heart and her peace of mind, and because of that he had frightened her.

  She loved Slater, and she always would. Victoria was not a woman who wavered, nor one to give her heart lightly. She had always known that when she loved, it would be forever. However much or little Slater felt for her would not change that fact. And she wanted that love physically; she wanted to belong to him and know that he belonged to her. She wanted his body, his lips, his heart—even if it was for no more than today. For whatever she had of him would be all that she had of love for the rest of her life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They rode back to the dilapidated house that Slater had spotted earlier. Slater carried Victoria into the house. She made no protest that she could walk, just laid her head upon his shoulder. She had no desire right now to be either strong or independent.

  Setting her down by the rock fireplace that stood against one wall, he went back to unsaddle their horses. There was a small lean-to behind the house that was adequate shelter for the animals. Leaving them there, he brought in their saddlebags and bedrolls. Victoria was still sitting by the fireplace, huddled against the stone hearth. Her acquiescent manner frightened Slater. He thought she might have been hurt somewhere that he hadn’t seen, or that she was going into shock. He had to get her warm and dry immediately.

  There’d be no dry wood for miles around, so Slater broke up the dilapidated cupboard and lone chair in the cabin. Leaves and twigs had drifted in through the open door and windows, and he scooped them up, setting them in the fireplace, then topping the pile with the pieces of wood he’d torn apart earlier. The bed of leaves and twigs went up in flames quickly, but the larger pieces were less apt to catch fire, and for a moment he feared they would not. But finally the other wood began to burn.

  Slater dug through their belongings, looking for something dry that Victoria could put on. The blankets were soaked, but he had stuck an extra shirt in one of his saddlebags, and it had remained relatively dry.

  “Here. This will have to do,” he said, taking the shirt to Victoria. “We have to get these wet things off you.”

  He knelt and took off her boots, then began to unbutton her blouse. His intent wasn’t sexual, even though his body still throbbed from the passion of their earlier kisses. He simply wanted to take care of her. He was filled with a deep, primitive feeling that he didn’t stop to analyze, an awareness that she was his and infinitely precious, that he had almost lost her and now must take very good care of her.

  He peeled off her blouse, letting it drop to the floor in a sodden heap. His breath caught in his throat, and suddenly the sexual provocation of what he was doing slammed into him. Victoria’s wet chemise was molded to her like a second skin and almost completely transparent. It cupped her breasts, revealing the rose circles of her areolae, ringing the darker pointing buds of her nipples.

  Desire surged in Slater, swift and elemental. He had never wanted a woman as he wanted Victoria now, with a deep, primal sense of possession. He looked at Victoria, and she gazed back at him, her eyes soft and radiant, without saying a word. He knew, as he had known by the riverbank, that he would have her, that there was no other course for either of them.

  Victoria had been so tired and cold, she’d done nothing but sit and shiver. But now, under Slater’s gaze, desire flared in her. She knew how clearly the wet garment revealed her breasts; she might as well have been naked before him. But rather than embarrassment, it was a wild sort of excitement that rose in her. It made her breathless to see him look at her and watch his lips and eyes turn heavy with passion. A heavy, warm ache started deep inside her, and it grew as he gazed at her.
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br />   She did not reach to remove her clothes, simply stood up so that it was easier for Slater to undress her. He unhooked the top fastening of Victoria’s chemise. His hands slid down, his knuckles grazing the supremely soft flesh of her breasts, to undo the next hook and eye. By the time he finished undoing the chemise, his hands were trembling. He opened the scanty garment and slid it off her. He stared at her, his lips parted. Her breasts were luscious and full, the pebbled nipples like little raspberries.

  Slater unbuckled the wide leather belt around her waist, then unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Victoria was left in nothing but her long cotton underpants and stockings, both as transparent and clinging as her chemise had been. He could not look away from the smooth swell of her hips and the wide, flat plane of her abdomen. Her legs were long and slender, finely shaped. Dainty blue satin and white lace garters encircled her thighs to hold up her stockings, and he found the sight of them unbelievably erotic.

  Slater slid off each garter and crushed it in his hand, struggling to control his lust. Kneeling, he rolled down the wet stockings, his hands gliding over her skin. He untied the ribbon at the waist of her underpants, but they were too wet to slide to the floor, and he had to roll them down as he had the stockings, touching the sleek skin of her hips and thighs. He longed to sink his fingertips into her and pull her forward for his mouth to devour.

  At last he was done, and he stood up, his eyes roaming over her. She was lovely, perfect, the now blazing fire throwing golden light across her skin. He wanted to explore every curve and valley of her flesh, to caress her breasts and slip into the warm, feminine, secret place between her legs and find the dew of passion there.

  He would make love to her this afternoon. The life force surging in him demanded it. There was no longer any thought in him of what was wrong or right, of how he ought to act with a young lady like Victoria. There was only the driving need to make her his. But he must go more slowly than his throbbing desire demanded. Victoria was untouched, and no matter how fiercely, how blindly, he wanted her, he had to bring her to the act of love with care and tenderness.

  Slater picked up his flannel shirt and dried her skin. The flannel was soft against her flesh, creating a delightful friction. Victoria let out a breathy sigh, and her eyes fluttered closed. Slater circled her breasts with the cloth, lingering on her nipples, moving the material around and around each one until they puckered, thrusting out boldly. His hand moved down her stomach and abdomen, stopping short of the thatch of hair where her legs joined. He moved the shirt over the curve of her buttocks and down her thighs. He knelt to dry her calves and feet. He stood up. His heart was racing, his nerves humming with desire.

  He wanted to grab her and take her down to the floor with him. Instead he laid the shirt around her shoulders to cover her and stepped back.

  “Slater?” Victoria looked at him, bewildered. Why had he stopped? Slater stood across from her, his chest rising and falling in short, rapid breaths. There was no mistaking his desire; it pushed crudely against his trousers.

  “I want you, Victoria.” His voice was husky. “But I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want to push you into anything you might regret.”

  She smiled, a slow, secret, sensuous smile. “I won’t regret it.”

  Her words twisted a trail of fire through him. Slater knew he had expended what gentlemanly conduct he had left in him. He began to undress, his fingers clumsy and slow on his buttons. All the while, Victoria simple stood, waiting and watching. She didn’t put her arms into the shirt and button it, or even pull it closed around her. She left it hanging on her shoulders, open down the front so that a tantalizing stretch of her naked skin showed from her neck to her legs. The shirt stopped partway down her thighs, leaving her long, well-curved legs exposed to his gaze. In a way, it was more titillating than if she had stood before him completely naked.

  Slater yanked off his shirt, hampered by its wetness, and dumped it on the floor. Victoria sucked in her breath sharply at the sight of his bare chest. She had seen it before when he was sick, but this was different. Now he was well and undressing for her. In a few minutes she would be in his arms, and he would make her a woman, his woman. She felt equal parts of anxiety and excitement, and seeing Slater’s naked, powerful chest only increased both feelings. He was so strong, so utterly masculine, that it was scary. He could overpower her—not just physically, but emotionally, as well. She loved him; she wanted him. How easy it would be for him to rule her with her own emotions. As easy as it had been for him to lift her in his arms and carry her into the house.

  The smooth, sleek muscles of his chest and arms invited her touch. She remembered the feel of his skin as she had bathed away his fever. She wondered how different it would be to rub her hand across it without the cloth in between, when the heat in his skin was from desire, not fever. Light brown hair grew in a V across his chest, narrowing into a line down to his navel. Victoria thought about twining her fingers through the curls; she wondered if the hair was stiff or soft. She wanted to touch his masculine nipples. Would they harden as hers did now?

  Slater pulled off his boots and socks and peeled down the soaked, clinging trousers. Victoria’s eyes widened as the full, distended evidence of his desire came into view. The heat between her legs increased. He was too big; he would hurt her—and yet she ached to feel him inside her. She wanted to take him into her; she yearned to feel the full extent of his power.

  Slater saw the mingled apprehension and desire on her face. It was rare to see uncertainty on Victoria’s face; he looked forward to teaching her what she did not know. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His voice was low and reassuring. “I’ll be gentle with you. I won’t hurt you.”

  Victoria gave him a smile. “I’m not sure you can help that. But I know that you’ll do your best not to. And I—I want to anyway.”

  He came toward her. He was narrow-hipped, his legs long and lean, lightly covered with curling hair. Victoria had never seen a naked man before, and though she felt a blush of embarrassment rising in her cheeks, she was too curious to look away. Excitement rose in her throat.

  Slater took her hand and raised it to his lips. His mustache tickled her skin. “I promise, it’s not as fearsome as it looks.” He brought her hand down to brush his thickened staff. “Here, touch it. It won’t harm you.”

  When her fingers grazed him, his flesh leaped, startling her, and she drew her hand back with a soft gasp. But she brought it back, brushed her fingertips down him in tentative curiosity. Again his staff pulsed at her touch, but Victoria wasn’t surprised this time, and she curled her fingers around him softly. Slater drew in his breath.

  “What? I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” His voice was low and thick with restraint. “Far from it. You give me too much pleasure. I’m afraid I’ll get too excited and rush you.”

  Victoria’s hand circled gently round him, then stroked back up the underside. Her fingers delved curiously into the nest of hair out of which his manhood sprang, then roamed lower. Slater groaned, and his teeth bit into his lower lip. She glanced up at his face. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his face was drawn tight. His lids lowered with passion, and his mouth was fuller and softer than before. The sensuality of his expression sent tendrils of desire down into Victoria’s abdomen, where they tangled and knotted in an ever-growing ache of desire.

  “Now you must give me my turn,” Slater whispered, and his hands came up to rest on the center of her chest. He slid his fingers beneath the sides of the shirt and pushed it back off her shoulders. His hands moved down to the heavy globes of her breasts, and he squeezed gently. The soft flesh quivered beneath his touch. He cupped her breasts, luxuriating in their weight and texture. His thumbs traced ever-narrowing circles until they touched her areolae and then the nipples themselves. The soft, fleshy buds tightened and puckered. Slater watched their transformation with a hot, heavy-lidded gaze.
r />   When he touched her nipples, Victoria began to throb between her legs, and she realized that she was damp there. As his thumbs continued to play with her nipples, the throbbing grew more insistent, and she became wetter and wetter. The moisture embarrassed her; she didn’t understand it, but she thought it probably shouldn’t happen. Still, she could not will it to stop.

  He left her breasts and slid down her stomach, his hands teasing at the circle of her navel and spreading out over her abdomen. Down he traveled, and she moved a little nervously.

  “It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know,” Victoria replied breathlessly. “It’s just that I’ve never—oh!”

  His hands slid around to curve over her tight, rounded buttocks and down to her thighs, startling her. His smile was slow, and so sensual that her stomach flip-flopped. “I know you haven’t. But I’ll teach you.”

  Slater’s hand glided around her thigh and up to her abdomen. Then one hand went to the curling V of hair where her legs joined. Victoria had never really imagined a man touching her in so private a place, and she moved a little, but his other hand on her hip held her firmly where she was. His fingers slid down and in between her legs, touching the satin-soft flesh.

  “Ah.” His eyes closed briefly, and his nostrils flared. His fingers gently caressed the secret feminine folds, slick with the liquid of her desire. “You’re ready for me.”

  She looked at him. His face was flushed, his mouth stretched wide. His eyes were piercing, almost silvery. He leaned closer, his hand remaining where it was, and kissed her. Victoria moaned softly, her head falling back, surrendering to his kiss. His lips moved over hers, angling one way and then the other, insistent and searing. His tongue delved into her mouth, coaxing her own tongue out in a slow, simmering dance. All the while, his fingers rubbed and teased and opened her. His finger slid up into her, imitating the penetration of his tongue into her mouth.