The hallway was quiet and, of course, empty. Still half besotted from the cordial, Maggie found herself creeping out of her room.

She was sure she hadn’t made a sound but, all the same, a door near the bathroom opened with a soft suddenness, and she heard Reeve whisper hoarsely, “Maggie?”

Boldly, Maggie followed the whisper, and when she reached Reeve’s doorway, she simply stood there, looking up at him.

“Go back to your room,” he said softly, desperately.

Maggie shook her head and somehow the quilt slipped away from her shoulders, landing in a moon-washed heap at her feet.

Reeve’s eyes swept over her naked curves with a reluctant hunger, as though they were rebelling against the orders of his mind. “Oh, God,” he breathed, and then he caught hold of Maggie’s hand and pulled her into his room, dragging the disgarded quilt in as an afterthought.

“Hello,” she said.

“You’re drunk,” Reeve responded, trying to keep his distance. He was wearing nothing but the smattering of moonlight slipping in through the windows, and Maggie watched in sleepy wonder as he grew to a splendid stiffness under her gaze.

Feeling a half-witted sort of marvel at her own audacity, even as she was driven forward by some imp within her, Maggie took a step closer to Reeve. He was standing beside his bed and, for just a moment, he looked as though he might be poised to run.

“Maggie, in the name of heaven,” he pleaded in a harsh voice, “go back to your room.”

Maggie stayed where she was, frozen in place by the splendor of him.

Reeve’s hand trembled slightly as he reached out and took something from the bedside table. There was the distinctive sound and scent of a match being struck, and light flared on the planes of his face as he lit a cheroot and drew deeply of the smoke. The heat of his gaze warmed Maggie, thawed her stricken muscles. Without thinking, she lifted her hands to her breasts again because they felt sore and heavy.

At that moment Reeve snuffed out the cheroot he’d just lit and, with a primitive groan, strode across the room to Maggie. He seemed enraged as he took her waist in his hands, lifted her off the floor, and hurled her backward onto his bed.

She lay sprawled on the covers, her eyes wide, her heart hammering at her rib cage. She couldn’t have spoken if all the world had hung in the balance.

“Did that sober you up?” Reeve demanded, glaring down at her.

Maggie was excited. She smiled, knowing that she had won a battle it would have been more advisable to lose. Deliberately, she raised her arms above her head and indulged in a languorous, kittenlike stretch.