HE KNELT BESIDE HER in one swift movement. “Am I to understand that you have changed your mind?”

Gabby swallowed. “Yes,” she said, rather faintly. “That is, I have an idea, Quill.”

“An idea?” He reached out and caressed her sore elbow. Then he brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

“Perhaps your migraines are related to your hip injury,” she said, trying to ignore the way she was sitting half-clothed on the floor.

“My doctors have concluded that they are the result of a concussion I received in the accident.” Quill was definitely not listening to her.

A honey-dark hand rounded the curve of her breast. His thumb trailed across her nipple and Gabby shuddered inside, excitement and nervousness beating a double rhythm.

“Luscious Gabby,” he murmured. He looked at her with his wicked smile. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“Quill, did you hear what I said? If the migraines were connected to your hip injury rather than to your concussion, then—”

He stretched himself out on the carpet next to her and began kissing her shoulder, little nipping kisses.

She started over. “Perhaps the migraines are the result of your hip injury.”

Quill shook his head and answered patiently. “I exercise my hip frequently, Gabby. I never suffer migraines as a result. And concussions are known to cause headaches.”

She pushed his head away from her breast. “Please listen to me!”

“I don’t want to,” Quill whispered against her skin. “Gabby, I exercise daily, and don’t suffer headaches as a consequence. The only activities that give me migraines are sexual intercourse and riding horses.”

“Riding horses?” Gabby tried to pull her rational self together. One of Quill’s hands drifted to her stomach and was making little teasing circles, pushing at the crumpled gauze of her dress, threatening to go lower.

Abruptly he suckled her. When he finally raised his head, his breath had become a flame in his chest, an erotic hymn in his throat. “There’s no escape from migraines, love. My doctors have all agreed that motion exacerbates the old head injury. There’s no mystery about it.”

“You walk all the time,” she protested. “Obviously, not all motion causes problems.”

“True. But this is not a good time for conversing, Gabby,” he added, lowering his mouth to her breast again.

She couldn’t help it; she gasped as he roughly pulled a nipple into his mouth. Her body involuntarily turned toward his, asking for his weight, his pressure, again.

“Mmmm,” Quill muttered, his hand sliding seductively down her back. He pushed it under the drape of her gown.

Gabby squirmed and her breath came harshly. He cupped her bottom and swung her toward him, picking her up in one smooth motion.

“You shouldn’t!” Gabby said, panic in her voice. “If your hip is the cause of your headaches, you shouldn’t pick me up.”