He gripped her hips, his fingers digging in as she surged over him. All reckless speed and clashing light now, all heat and greed. His mind emptied, his lungs screamed, and his body climbed desperately toward release.

When he found it, it was brutal and brilliant.

She seemed to melt over him, her body as soft and hot and fluid as a pool of liquid wax. Her heart thudded hard against the frantic beat of his own. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the air to push the words free. But the ones that shimmered on his tongue were three that he’d been careful never to say to a woman.

Triumph still glowed inside her. She stretched, lazy and satisfied as a cat, then curled herself against him. “That,” she said sleepily, “was exactly right.”

“What?”

She chuckled softly and ended on a yawn. “I may not have scared you, but I fried your brain.”

“No question.” A sex-scrambled brain. Men who started thinking about love, much less bringing the word up when they were hot and naked and wrapped around a woman, just got themselves in trouble.

“First time I ever liked waking up at three A.M.” Already half asleep, she pillowed her head on his shoulder. She shifted. “Cold,” she muttered.

He reached down and tugged up the tangled sheets and blankets. She nipped an edge with her fingers, pulled them up to her chin.

For the second time in one night, Phillip lay awake, staring at the ceiling while she slept deep and still beside him.

EIGHTEEN

IT WAS BARELY light when Phillip crawled out of bed. He didn’t bother to moan. What good would it do? Just because he’d barely slept, his mind was fogged with fatigue and worry, and he had an entire day of backbreaking manual labor ahead of him was no reason to complain.

The fact that there was no coffee was a damn good reason to complain.

Sybill stirred as he started to dress. “You have to go to the boatyard?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his tongue over his teeth as he jerked up his slacks. Christ, he didn’t even have a toothbrush with him.

“Do you want me to order up some breakfast? Coffee?”

Coffee. The word alone was like a siren’s song in his blood.

But he grabbed his shirt. If she ordered coffee, he would have to talk to her. He didn’t think it was a smart move to have a conversation when he was in such a foul mood. And why was he in a foul mood? he asked himself. Because he hadn’t slept and she’d managed to sneak through his legendary defenses while he wasn’t looking and make him fall in love with her.

“I’ll get some at home.” His voice was clipped and edgy. “I have to go back and change anyway.” Which was why he was up so damn early.

The sheets rustled as she sat up. He watched her out of the corner of his eye and reached for his socks. She looked tousled and tumbled and temptingly soft.