quickened breathing, the faint sheen of perspiration this contact brought her, and just touch his face with her hand. Just touch him softly… he'd shaved his chin. He'd shaved not long before she had arrived, because his black beard was nothing but a velvet burr against her fingertips. A burr on that broad jaw. She spread her fingers, seeking to touch more, and she located his cheekbone. Her thumb slid across, once, twice. The skin there was always smooth, a pleasure to stroke. Her fingertips rubbed his ear, circling each ridge, holding the lobe, then lightly massaging it.
Beneath her other hand, his shoulder flexed. Yes. A caress on the ear had always disturbed him. Always brought his body surging toward hers.
She broke off the kiss and straightened up. Prudence. A chance to grasp at discretion.
He wasn't surging toward her. He hadn't moved at all. His hands still rested on the arms of the chair, his thigh still pressed against her knee, he still watched her… still watched her.
Her lips felt swollen when she asked, "Shall I stop?"
"No."
"This is insane."
With heartfelt sincerity, he said, "To hell with sanity."
Yes. Yes. Perhaps she was deranged, but this asylum imprisoned two. Here, between the two of them, uncontrollable emotions rose and tossed them on the seas of passion, and no matter how he wished it otherwise, he responded to her. In this matter, at least, his discipline was inadequate.
Her hand slid into his hair, along his temple and into the silky strands. She sifted them through her fingers. Streaks of white. Dear heavens, he had streaks of white mixed with the shiny black, and he was but thirty-six. Between her fingers, she fancied she could feel the difference in colors. Certainly she could feel pain, loneliness, worry.
Had he suffered? How she hoped so!
Stroking the hair away from his face, she bent toward him again. His lips… sweet. Remarkably sweet for such a bitter man. With her eyes and her lips closed, she could almost taste him through the faint brush of his breath. Almost taste him…
Almost wasn't enough.
Softly she opened her lips on his, showing him, coaxing his mouth open. He was an apt student, ready to follow her example, just as if he'd never done this before, never seduced her, never brought her to whimpering pleasure just so he could bend her to his will…
Damn him. Her fingers clenched in his hair. Her palm leaned hard against his shoulder. She pressed her tongue into his mouth, taking pleasure in overpowering him.
And he… Dougald wouldn't stand for that. Of course not. He answered in kind, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, fighting with her for mastery. His hands spanned her waist, holding her in place.
As if she would try to get away now! Now, when she had him just where she wanted him, beneath her, kissing on her command. She had taken the initiative. Let him try to wrest it from her—
A firm, chilly, disapproving voice broke through Hannah's stupor. "We are going to have to keep an eye on those two."
7
D azed, Hannah broke the kiss. She looked into his eyes. For one unguarded moment she saw passion and fury. Then he blinked and…
Nothing. She could read nothing there; if he had experienced any emotion— any emotion— he hid it well.
Deliberately, she blanked expression from her face, cleared her mind, and looked toward the source of that voice.
In the doorway. Four elderly women of various sizes and shapes stood just inside, observing Dougald and Hannah with expressions ranging from disapproval to bright-eyed interest.
"What a relief!" one round-faced, swarthy darling loudly said. "Dear Dougald has been here almost a year and hasn't shown a speck of interest in women. I had begun to worry that he danced to a different tune."
"Isabel, I vow you are too blunt." A white-haired lady shook her head reprovingly.
"You wondered, too, Ethel!" In contrast, Aunt Isabel's hair was completely, suspiciously black.
"Yes, but I wouldn't say so."
"He probably