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“We . . . we can’t live like this, you know,” she admitted, slowly crossing the room to stand directly in his gaze, before the fire. Heat from its glow warmed the back of her calves. The house was already warm, and the fire only added to its simmering heat.

“You’re damned right we can’t,” he agreed forcefully. His dark eyes traveled upward, from the toes peeking out of her sandals, up the length of her calf to the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, to rest on her face—the face that had haunted his nights and, more often than not, awakened him in the darkness with burning need and longing. God, how long had he waited to make her his again?

Mara felt as if, with the touch of his eyes, he was undressing her, and that not only was her heated skin in his view, but also the very soul of her. The farthest reaches of her mind were being explored by the intensity of his gaze, the rake of his eyes on her body. Gradually, he stood, taking one final swallow of his drink before coming over to within inches of her. Her face tilted upward to meet his probing gaze. An uneasy awkward silence fell upon them, and the flames threw shadowed patterns across Shane’s proud face.

“You had no right to take her,” Mara whispered, her eyes searching his.

“I had every right.”

Again the heavy silence.

“Youusedher.”

A self-derisive smile, hard and cold, curled his lips. “I didn’t. What I did was tell her the truth.”

“The truth that you were her real father?”

“That’s right.” He braced himself against the mantle with one strong hand and touched a lock of Mara’s hair with the other.

“And how did she take the news?”

His face softened with a smile. “She seems to like the idea. She’s too young to really understand.”

Mara let out the breath she had been holding, and felt the subtle pressure of Shane’s fingers as they traveled from her hair to her throat. Her heart began to clamor for his touch, and when his fingers brushed the hollow of her throat, moving in slow, seductive circles, he found her racing pulse. His fingers lingered for a second, and then dropped to toy with the neckline of her dress.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured thickly into the deep golden silk of her hair. “I’ve waited so long . . .” His lips, warm and sensitive, found hers and captured her entire being in a kiss that promised unrestrained passion and fulfillment.

“I . . . I’m glad to be here,” she admitted, feeling the gentle pressure of his hands as they guided her to the floor. Willingly, she yielded. “Oh, God, Shane,” Mara whispered. “I’m so glad to be here.”

As they dropped to the floor, Shane managed to pull off his shirt, and the shadowed flames seemed to flicker and dance upon his rugged, masculine chest. Mara felt the tiny beads of anxious perspiration begin to moisten her skin, and her heart was pounding within the walls of her rib cage. His hands found the wrap-tie of her dress, and in one swift movement the rose dress opened, exposing the feverish rising and falling of her chest that was protected by only the thin fabric of her slip. “It’s so hot in here,” she murmured, the touch of his hands and the heat from the fire igniting molten flames of desire within her. “I . . . I feel as if I’m going to melt . . . ”

“Let’s hope so,” he murmured, his voice husky with yearning. “Ineedyou so badly,” he moaned as his lips rained dew-soft kisses upon her, across the gentle hill of her cheeks, over her eyes, and lower, past her throat to whisper against the French lace of her slip. Her breasts strained within the confinement of the sheer garment. His hot breath, laced with the tingle of Scotch, heated the dewy drops of perspiration on her body and made her ache for him with a primeval urgency that took control of her mind and soul. “Oh, Mara, baby, let me make love to you here, in our home . . . away from all of our problems.”

Her answering sigh of surrender, and the anxious fingers caressing his skin, heating his flesh, were all the encouragement that Shane needed. Slowly he slid the dress over her shoulders, and let one strap of her slip fall to expose her breast, proud and round in the firelight. He closed his eyes as if in agonized pain. “Why do I want you so badly . . . why?” he sighed, almost to himself. When he opened his eyes to gaze deeply into hers, the passion that he tried so hard to deny smoldered in his gaze.

With trembling hands, Mara reached up and put her palms on either side of his head, until the pressure of her fingertips drew him down, closer to her, until his lips brushed against and finally captured the ripe and aching tip of her breast. “Love me, Shane,” she pleaded. “Please . . . love me . . .”

His weight shifted until he lay boldly over her. Her fingers found the zipper to his jeans, and she knew, in an instant, how strong his passion had become. Within minutes he had found the most intimate part of her. She felt herself yielding, melting, softening to his touch in warm liquid waves of fulfillment.

“Marry me, Shane,” she demanded, and the naked pleading in her eyes found the black passion of his. “Marry me,” she whispered over and over again as she felt herself blend into him.

When at last his passion had subsided, he held her quietly in his arms and stared into the few final coals that still glowed in the fire. His fingers still rubbed her shoulder and breast, but he seemed lost in thought . . . distant.

Finally, with a groan, he sat up and pulled her into a sitting position as well. She felt warm and glowing as she gazed silently into the fire and felt the security of Shane’s powerful arms holding her.

“I want you to marry me,” he sighed, and she felt the muscles in his arms flex.

“I will.” The answer was honest. “I . . . want it, too.”

“When?” The question stung the air and Mara paused, but for only a moment. No matter what else she had learned and understood tonight, she realized that she could never deny Shane the right to his child. And in time, she hoped, once that she had proven her love for him, he would love her.

“I’ll tell June the entire story on Monday . . . and this time I’ll force her to listen. We can be married next week.”

His thumbs cupped her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she returned, contentedly snuggling closer to him.

“June and the Wilcox family . . . they might give us a battle for Imagination . . .”