Devon thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Common sense told him that Kat would have beautiful breasts, but the large, full mounds revealed by her wet shirt far exceeded even his lustful imagination.

He was awash with the desire to see them, taste them, cup them in his hands. “We must have our talk,” he said, wincing a little when his voice made the words seem harsh.

She colored, almost snatching the blanket from his hands and wrapping it around her. “So talk.”

He wiped water from his neck, pulling off his own wet coat and loosening his cravat. “Let’s sit.” He searched through the ruined remains of the shed, finding a chair with a broken bottom and a bucket that, turned upside down, could be used as a stool. He placed the chair against the driest wall and put a board across the broken seat, then overturned the bucket and made a companion chair. “After you, m’lady.”

Kat took the chair, sitting primly on the edge of her seat. Whether it was because she was anxious or because the rain had wet her hair until it was slicked back from her forehead, her eyes seemed unusually wide.

“Well,” he said, sitting on the bucket bench and raking a hand through his own hair. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had a more awkward situation. But then, I’ve never desired to talk about having a relationship before.”

She looked at him curiously. “Never?”

“No. They pretty much all just…happened. Mutual consent, as it were.” Most of the women he’d had relationships with hadn’t expected or wanted conversation. They’d wanted jewels, admiration, and his attention, all the while thriving on the hope that once he’d sampled their charms, he’d become so enamored that he’d desire something more—like marriage.

That never happened, of course. The more they wanted, the less he wished to give.

Kat was different. She didn’t ask for or expect anything his former loves had craved and demanded. And it made him want to do more for her.

It was a new and perplexing feeling. Added to that was his decision to be truthful at all costs. For the first time in his life, he was enjoying a relationship based on simple truth—he didn’t feel pressured to utter platitudes and inane compliments. Nor did Kat seem to want to hear false pledges of undying love. He knew that while the truth was sometimes difficult to express, Kat wouldn’t accept anything less.

He glanced at her now, noting that she was thoroughly covered, the blanket clamped about her throat and hiding her wet clothing. “Kat, I’m not very good at talking about things. I’m a man of action. But for you, I’ll try.”

She nodded, her eyes warm in the silvered light. “I know.”