He shook his head, teasingly running his lips across hers. “No, sweetheart. That’s not a logical conclusion. Besides, I don’t mind a migraine now and then.”

And she could tell he didn’t mind, that he wouldn’t begrudge a moment of pain for the time in her arms.

Quill lay her on the bed and then slowly, slowly pulled the infamous gown from her body, letting it fall to the floor. She was wearing silk stockings and shoes, nothing else. “You’re so beautiful.” His voice was a caress.

Gabby took a deep breath and resisted the impulse to dive under the covers. “I would like to try to make love without straining your hip, please,” she said, forcing her voice to sound authoritative. He may not care about the headaches, but she did.

“An experiment?” Quill’s eyebrows arched. “I have a good deal more experience than you do, Gabby. I honestly feel that you will be more comfortable with old-fashioned methods.”

He was trembling with the effort of standing casually before her. He was fighting off an overpowering urge to fall on her and push himself inside without grace or forethought. He let his eyes range from the delicate bend of her knee to her shining, tangled hair. Slowly he drew off her slippers, his fingers lingering on the arches of her feet.

“What happened to you, wife?” His voice was thick in his throat. Willy-nilly he leaned forward and curved a hand possessively around Gabby’s creamy breast. “You’re naked in the open, as if you never protested nudity.”

She glanced down at her uncovered breast, at his hand on her bare skin, and didn’t bother replying. If he thought she had turned into a wanton who didn’t realize that her dress was on the floor, so be it. Her eyes sought his. “Do you have any ideas, Quill?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. “Ideas?” He came onto the bed and his large body loomed over hers. He pulled a rosy nipple into his mouth again.

Her hands clutched his shoulders. “A plan,” she gasped.

“Plan?”

Gabby bit back a moan. “For this,” she insisted.

Quill raised his head. “What are you talking about, Gabby? I didn’t need a plan the last time I took you to bed, I can assure you.”

Her breath was catching in her chest. “How—how—you didn’t listen to me!” She pushed at the knee wedged between her legs.

Quill shook his head. Then he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m listening. What are you trying to say?”

“You put weight on your hip,” she said, pointing. “That’s your scarred hip, isn’t it?”