She wanted his heart, and she wanted his soul. But most of all, she wanted to give herself to him, to heal whatever wounds lay beneath the surface of his skin. She'd finally found a place of belonging—with him—and she wanted to show him the same joy.

And so, when his fingers found the core of her femininity, no words of refusal or protest passed her lips. She gave herself into the pleasure of the moment, moaned his name, and clutched at his shoulders as he teased her desire into a merciless vortex.

She clung to him as she spun out of control, the pressures within her building to a fever pitch. She felt taut, stretched to the limit, and then he slipped one finger inside her as his thumb continued its sensual torture on her hot skin.

Her world exploded in an instant.

She bucked beneath him, her hips rising off the ground and actually lifting him in the air. She shouted his name and then reached frantically from him as he rolled off her.

“No,” she gasped, “come back.”

“Shhh.” He stroked her hair, then her cheek. “I'm right here.”

“Come back.”

“I'm too heavy for you.”

“No. I want to feel you. I want—” She gulped. “I want to please you.”

His face grew taut. “No, Caroline.”

“But—”

“I won't take that away from you.” His voice was firm. “I shouldn't have done what I did, but I'm damned if I take your virginity.”

“But I want to give it to you,” she whispered.

He turned on her with unexpected ferocity. “No,” he bit out. “You will save that for your husband. You are too fine to waste it on another.”

“I—” She broke her words off, not willing to mortify herself by saying she'd hoped he would be that husband.

But he could obviously read her thoughts, for he turned away from her and said, “I won't marry you. I can't marry you.”

She scrambled for her clothing, begging a prayer to God that she wouldn't start to cry. “I never said you had to.”

He turned around. “Do you understand me?”

“I'm quite proficient in English.” Her voice caught. “I know all the big words, remember?”

He gazed upon her face, which wasn't nearly as stoic as she'd hoped. “Christ, I never meant to hurt you.”

“It's a little late for that.”

“You don't understand. I can never marry. My heart belongs to another.”

“Your heart belongs to a dead woman,” she spat out. She immediately clapped her hand to her mouth, horrified by her venomous tone. “Forgive me.”

He shrugged fatalistically as he handed her one of her slippers. “There is nothing to forgive. I took advantage of you. For that I apologize. I am only glad I had the presence of mind to stop when I did.”

“Oh, Blake,” she said sadly. “Eventually, you're going to have to allow yourself to stop hurting. Marabelle is gone. You're still here, and there are people who love you.”