And then Bishop was forgotten, and Mexico, and even Italian opera singers, as Steve scooped her into his arms, carried her the few steps to the wide canopied bed against the wall and tossed her onto the mattress, his lean body following her down as he slid his hands beneath her silk dressing gown. She arched upward, hungrily, reaching for him and twining her arms around his neck.

“Bruja,” he muttered against her throat, “my green-eyed witch. You’ll probably be the death of me one day….”

Her hands raked up his back, shoving impatiently at his shirt until she felt bare skin, her fingers spreading out to hold him close as she shuddered with reaction. Lamplight cast a rosy glow across the room. Lips and hands made new and remembered discoveries as their bodies moved apart, then joined again, the passion that was always between them reignited.

There was no more talk as they came together with a savage intensity, not even undressing. The restraint of the past month was gone, replaced by the familiar need that always consumed them, that had driven them to desperate acts at times, this overpowering passion between them. It was a relief and an answer, and as Steve thrust inside her, his body a hard, driving force that took her past the realm of coherent thought to mindless sensation, Ginny knew that she would do whatever she had to do to stay with him.

He was her past, her present, her future….

5

Steve Morgan was ushered into a large anteroom with gleaming marble floors beneath thick Turkish carpets. Dark mahogany panelling boasted gilt-framed paintings of austere faces beneath white powdered periwigs. A stifling room, with only one tall casement window flanked by heavy draperies allowing in thin light, it seemed to close in around him. Shadows hovered in far corners like guilty secrets untouched by the glow of lamps or truth.

Restless, Steve resisted the urge to pace. Damn Grayson for committing him to a meeting with another anxious investor. Mexico’s current situation made rich men who invested in land or silver mines nervous, gave them a high stake in the future of the country’s leadership. To make it worse, this investor, he’d been told, owned extensive property in Oaxaca, and needed discreet advice on the advisability of supporting Díaz.

Christ, he had too much to do to waste time pretending interest in a bored aristocrat’s political machinations. With his return to Mexico only a few days away, he realized just how impatient he was to leave London.

It wasn’t just the fact that the city had begun to swallow him; that was bad enough. He wanted to be in the thick of things, in Mexico, where he could protect his grandfather if need be, conserve what was left of the old man’s strength.