She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He was so incredibly beautiful, his skin damp with perspiration, his blue eyes vivid, his black hair falling over his brow. Holding her gaze, he dropped his mouth to her breast and laved the peak, his hands now stroking higher, up her thigh, returning to the taut core of her womanhood.

She gasped, her head thrown back, her hair coming unbound. Chase soaked in the sight of her face as she gave herself to the passion. Her face flushed, her eyes glistened, her face softened with wonder. No vestige was left of the plainspoken, logically bound Harriet that he’d come to admire. In her place was a tempting siren with lush brown hair, a kiss-swollen mouth, and eyes that shimmered with desire.

He had to have her. Now. Never had he lusted for any woman, especially not an innocent. The thought held him for a moment. She was an innocent, but she was also in his bed, her face awash with pleasure, with need. Everyone at Garrett Park looked to her for their comfort. Perhaps it was time someone looked to hers.

With a renewed vow to make this moment the most incredible of her life, to show her how wonderful, how beautiful he found her, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her softly, deeply. He put every bit of himself into that kiss, mingling his soul with hers.

She responded without hesitation, opening, writhing, clutching at his shoulders. Finally, panting heavily, he broke the kiss and lifted on his elbow to look at her.

Chase couldn’t move. He’d known that beneath her plain gowns, Harriet was an attractive woman. But seeing her now, completely naked, her delicately made, but strongly wrought, body outlined against the sheets, was almost more than he could bear. She was beautiful, perfectly made.

Her legs were curvaceous, her waist narrow above her slender hips. Her small breasts were tipped with rose-colored nipples that drew his gaze and made his mouth water.

“You are beautiful,” he breathed. “So beautiful.”

In answer, she lifted up on her elbows to tilt her face to his. Her thick brown hair flowed about her shoulders and clung to the shadowed hollows of her neck. She grasped his neck with one hand and pulled him closer, the warmth from her palm sending a tingle of heat through him.

He splayed his hands over her shoulders and arms, marveling at the seductively carved collarbone that was displayed there. She was no soft, overfed miss, but a woman of strength, of delicately made muscles and finely wrought sinew.

His body tightened almost painfully. He could no longer think coherently about anything. Anything but this woman and her creamy thighs. He had to have her. Have her and make her his. The desire to brand her, to mark her as his own and no one else’s, raced through him and all coherent thought fled at the onslaught of primitive emotion.

Chase lifted himself and poised above her, his hands tangled in her hair. “Love me, Harriet. Let me come in.”