She slipped her hand back under the covers and flicked off the switch, plunging the caravan into darkness. The novelty of continuing this erotic game left her as boneless as his caresses, but the darkness also meant she needed to make certain he remembered he was dealing with Blue Bailey, not some faceless woman. “Good luck,” she managed to say. “I’m hard to satisfy with less than a two-man team.”

“In your dirty dreams.” His jeans hit the floor with a soft whoosh. “Now where’s that flashlight?” His hand grazed her side as he felt for it. Flicking the switch back on, he pulled it from under the sheet, then let the beam trickle over her naked body, from her breasts, to her belly, and below. He stopped. “Open up, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Let me see.”

It was too much, and she nearly shattered right there. He parted her unresisting thighs, and the flashlight’s cold plastic chilled the inner slope of her skin. “Perfect,” he whispered, looking his fill.

After that, she knew only sensation. Fingers parting and probing. Lips seeking. Her own hands exploring everything she’d been wanting to touch and stroke and weigh for so long.

Her small body received his with perfect resistance. Tender musk and rugged velvet. They moved together. The flashlight fell to the floor. He pressed deep within her, withdrew, and pressed again. She arched, demanded, dueled with him…and, finally, accepted.

Making love without indoor plumbing wasn’t nearly as romantic as it seemed. “How did the pioneers handle this?” she complained. “I need a bathroom.”

“We’ll use your T-shirt. You can burn it tomorrow. Please, God.”

“If you say another word about my T-shirt…”

“Give it here.”

“Hey, watch where you’re…” She sucked in her breath as he put her T-shirt to a most inventive use.

She didn’t make it on top the second time, either. By the third time, however, she managed to invert the power structure. Or, since she had possession of the flashlight, she at least thought she’d inverted it. But the truth was, she’d gotten a little foggy about who was servicing whom and exactly what the political ramifications were. One thing was for certain. She could never again taunt him with “Speed Racer.”

They dozed off. Her little berth in the back of the caravan wasn’t long enough for his tall frame, but he stayed there anyway, one arm around her shoulders.

She awakened very early and crawled over him as carefully as she could. A rush of tenderness claimed her as she lingered for a moment to gaze down at him. The early morning light washed his back, sculpting the curve of muscle and ridge of tendon. All her life she’d had to settle for second best. But not last night.