All Through the Night

"Why do you do it?" he asked.It would be futile to pretend she didn't understand the question. But how could she explain what she didn't understand herself? So, as she didn't have any answer, she gave him the thief's flip retort.

"Haven't you ever stolen anything, Cap?"

She was unprepared for his response. He surged forward then jerked to a halt as if caught on the end of a barb hook. She backed away. Her pulse kicked into double time.

An evil smile crept over his lips. "Nothing compared to what you've stolen."

She knew he was speaking of the night she'd tied him up and done the unimaginable.

His smile became knife sharp. "I see you understand me. Did you think I was bluffing when I promised I'd have you? Or did you think that when I discovered that the woman who fondled my body with such enthusiastic eroticism was the modest and dignified widow, I would renege? I won't. I never break a promise."

Her knees went rubbery and her hand shot out, searching for support. He rose, coming to her as gracefully and attentively as a court swain to his lady's aid. He took her arm and led her to the small, straight-backed chair she occupied earlier.

"Here. Sit by the fire." He held it for her. Confused by this combination of suitor and enemy, she obliged. He took a position looming unseen and silent behind her.

"I think I deserve a little compensation for that evening, don't you?" he asked softly.

His hands came down on her shoulders. She jerked half out of her seat. He pressed her back down.

"Easy," he murmured, as if gentling a horse. "You're cold. Your hair is still damp. Let me help you."

His voice rippled over her like rough silk. He threaded his fingers through her hair and slowly separated the thick mass into dark strands, spreading it like a net over her shoulders and breasts, his knuckles brushing lightly over her bosom as he worked. His hands were beautiful. Even the ruined one had a certain tortured grace.

It disconcerted her, having him standing behind her, as she was unable to see him. He touched her familiarly, almost casually. She wanted to read his expression but could not bring herself to turn. It would be too intimate.

More intimate than this? She caught back a burble of laughter. Her head swam with fatigue and increasing tension.

He ran his thumb lightly along her neckline and dipped it beneath the laced edge. She went as still as a hind in a woodsman's net. She shivered. He'd sworn he'd have recompense. Fear added its unique flavor to her tumultuous emotions.

"You really are exquisite." He might have been a sightseer commenting on a particularly nice vista. His voice was detached. Idly he pushed down her gaping neckline, revealing her breasts nearly to their tips.

If he heard her slight gasp, he ignored it.

"One cannot help but wonder how someone so exquisite, with so many advantages, decides to take up thievery as a pastime."

She could barely think. His hands flowed down over her. The heat from his broad palms penetrated through the silk, warming her flesh. He cupped her breasts and massaged them, testing their texture and weight with ruthless gentleness.

Tongues of firelight flickered over her skin, bathing her in stripes of light and shadow. He scared her. She couldn't remember a time when her body had been caressed so deliberately and with such...