“It can’t happen again,” she whispered, her gaze meeting his.

“No?” he murmured, reaching out to lift a soft tendril of hair back from her cheek, but then he couldn’t let it go and he let the strand slide between his fingers, before curling it loosely around his finger and thumb.

Her breath caught in her throat and she stared up at him, heart pounding, mouth drying. She loved the way he touched her and he was making her weak in the knees now. “It confuses me.”

“Confuses you, how?”

The heat between them was intense. Dizzying. So much awareness, so much desire, so impossible to satisfy. She swayed on her feet and he immediately stepped between her and the edge of the stairs, pressing her up against the wall. “I can’t think around you,” she whispered, feeling his dazzling energy before her, and the sun warmed rock at her back.

“Thinking is overrated,” he murmured, moving in closer to her, brushing his lips across her forehead.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his light clean fragrance and savoring the teasing caress. “Is it?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to think, either?”

She felt the corners of his mouth curve against her brow. He was smiling. And God, didn’t that turn her on?

She locked her knees, her inner thighs clenching, wanting him, needing. Damn him.

“One of us should probably keep our heads,” he answered, his hands cupping her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. “Less frantic that way.”

“And I suppose you think that should be you?” she breathed, trying to resist the pleasure of his hands pushing deep into her hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands, his knuckles grazing her scalp. He was so good at turning her on, making her feel, and he was making her feel now with a little tug, a touch, and just like that, desire rushed through her … hot, consuming, intense.

“Of course,” he said, leaning in to her, his mouth lightly kissing down from her brow, over her cheekbone, to the soft swell of her lips.

“Why?”

“Because no one has ever loved you the way I loved you.”

Her eyes flew open and she stared into his eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You know how I feel about you. You know I can not refuse you anything.”

“Not true. For five years you refused to grant me the divorce.”

“Because I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Five years is a long time to wait for someone.”

“I would have waited forever for you, Morgan.”

Her heart was pounding again, even harder. “That doesn’t make sense, Drakon. Nothing about this … us … makes sense.”

“Who said love was supposed to make sense?”

She exhaled hard, in a quick, desperate rush, and she had to blink hard to clear her vision. “Did you really love me?”

“How can you doubt it?”

She frowned, thinking, trying to remember. Why had she doubted it? Why had she not felt loved? How did she get from besotted bride to runaway wife?