“I know. It's worse this way. Because now I can almost justify wanting you. I can—”

“Blake?” Her voice was soft, but it was urgent, and she thought she'd die if he didn't complete his thought.

But he just shook his head. “I digress.” He moved his fingers to her eyes, skimming the tips over her eyelids as she closed them. “Here is another thing I know about you.”

She felt her lips part, and her breathing grew ragged.

“Your eyes—such heavenly lashes. Just a touch darker than your hair.” He moved his fingers to her temples. “But I think I like them open better than closed.”

Her eyes flew open.

“Ah, that's better. The most exquisite color in the world. Have you ever been out to sea?”

“Not since I was a very little girl.”

“Here by the coast the water is gray and murky, but once you get away from the taint of the land, it is clear and pure. Do you know what I'm talking about?”

“I—I think so.”

He shrugged rather suddenly and dropped his hand. “It still doesn't hold a candle to your eyes. I've heard the water is even more breathtaking in the tropics. Your eyes must be the exact color of the ocean as it skims along the equator.”

She smiled hesitantly. “I should like to see the equator.”

“My dear girl, don't you think you should at least try to see London first?”

“Now you're being cruel, and you don't really mean it.”

“Don't I?”

“No,” she said, reaching within herself to find the courage she needed to speak to him so plainly. “You're not angry with me. You're angry with yourself, and I'm convenient.”

His head tilted slightly in her direction. “You think you're very observant, don't you?”

“How am I supposed to answer that?”

“You're observant, but not, I think, enough to save yourself from me.” He leaned forward, his smile dangerous. “Do you know how much I want you?”

Her voice lost to her, she shook her head.

“I want you so much I lie awake every night, my body hard and aching with need.”

Her throat went dry.

“I want you so much the scent of you makes my skin tingle with desire.”

Her lips parted.

“I want you so much—” The night air filled with his angry laughter. “I want you so damned much I forgot about Marabelle.”

“Oh, Blake. I'm sorry.”

“Spare me your pity.”

She started to stand up. “I'll go. It's what you want, and you're clearly in no state for conversation.”

But he grabbed her and pulled her back down. “Didn't you hear me?”

“I heard every word,” she whispered.

“I don't want you to go.”

She said nothing.

“I want you.”

“Blake, don't.”

“Don't what? Don't kiss you?” He swooped down and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Too late.”

She stared at him, not certain if she should be scared or elated. She loved him; she was sure of that now. But he wasn't acting like himself.