He frowned. "I know I didn't say it right, but it's true and we've got to live with it." He reached out and touched her cheek with great gentleness. "It's been growing and getting bigger every day until I feel . . . it's not only lust." He grimaced. "Though God knows there's not been many nights I haven't gone to sleep hard as hell. I want to care for you. I want to make you happy. Do you believe me?"
She wanted to believe him. She did not dare. "No."
He went still and for an instant she knew she had hurt him. "I guess I deserved that." He suddenly erupted with explosive intensity. "But, by God, you will believe me. You'll believe me and you'll trust me and you'll learn to love me again. You already care something for me now, but you won't admit it. Maybe you don't feel what I feel for you, but you do feel something." He drew a deep breath and then attempted a casual shrug. "Oh well, I didn't expect it to be easy. I'll just have to be patient."
"It won't do you any good." she said huskily.
"The hell it won't," he said. "It's just that you don't trust me. You think I'll hurt you again. It won't happen. I love you."
"Until you see Ian and me in the same room. Then how much would you love me?"
He did not flinch. "I love Ian, but it doesn't even j compare with what I feel for you. Try me."
She shook her head. "I'm not that courageous." She made a motion to get up. "I've got to get back to the site."
"Sit back down. We'll go back after sundown. There's no need for you to run away. The declaration is over." He lay back on the blanket and closed his eyes.
She did not want to lie there and think about what he had just told her; the words were too seductively sweet. She looked at him in the sunlight, his hair ablaze, his body graceful and sinuous, his lashes curving on his cheeks. He was mandarin and hero and running patterer. He was determination, sensual delight, and wicked mischief. He was everything that was pleasing to the eye and tempting to the senses. Everything she wanted. Everything she could not have.
She loved him.
The knowledge came softly, sadly, absolutely. Why had she thought she could ever stop loving him? Because she was afraid, she realized. The scars were too deep. The risk was too great.
"Lie down," he said again without opening his eyes.
She could not have him, but she could have this moment of peace and sweetness. She hesitated and then slowly lay down beside him. She would have only memories after she left Cinnidar, and she would seize and hold this one. "Maybe for just a little longer," she said as she closed her eyes. She could hear the sound of the birds and the soft, steady sound of his breathing next to her. . . .
"Jane."
She opened her eyes to see Ruel bending over her. The sun streaming through the trees was now behind him, lighting his hair and leaving his face in shadow.
"Ruel . . ." she murmured drowsily.
"It's time to go. You've been sleeping for over an hour. The sun will go down pretty soon."
"Will it?" She reached out and touched his hair. So soft . . . Her hand trailed down to brush his cheek, testing the textures of him.
He stiffened. "Wake up, Jane."
"I am awake."
"The hell you are." He frowned anxiously as a thought occurred to him. "Do you have the fever again?"
She did feel warm and hazy, but she knew it was not from a recurrence of the fever. "No."
She took his hand and put it on her breast. The ripple of shock that went through him was equaled by her own surprise. She had acted without thought, on instinct alone. Yet she did not regret it. Another memory . .
"Don't do this to me," he said hoarsely. "I didn't bring you here for this, dammit."
Her breast was swelling beneath his hand, the nipple hardening. She said breathlessly, "I don't feel like resting anymore."
"I can tell." His palm slowly closed on her breast and heat tore through her body. "You're sure?"
She was starting to tremble. "Yes."
He drew a deep, ragged breath. "God, I'm glad."
He began to unbutton her shirt.
It was not like any time before. At first the rhythm was as slow and sweet as a lullaby, but later it was neither of those things. It was frantic and hot and mindless, capturing them both in a tempest of feeling. Yet she realized that storm had none of the darkness of domination. He was leading, not conquering.
The climax left her limp and gasping, her arms clutching him tightly to her.
His chest was heaving, his face buried in her shoulder. His voice was low and muffled. "Why, Jane?"
Without thinking, she told him the truth. "I wanted something to remember after I leave Cinnidar."
He flinched as if she had struck him. "I hope I made the experience properly memorable."
She had hurt him again with her careless words. "I mean, I woke up and you were there and I—"
"You don't have to explain." He lifted his head and looked down at her. "I've been used by women before. It's just never mattered to me." He swung off her, stood up, and lifted her up in his arms. "I have no intention of becoming only a memory, but I'm not above snatching a few pleasant ones of my own."
He started walking toward the lake.
"What are you doing?" she asked, startled. "Ruel, this is—"
He stepped off the bank and into the lake.
The shock of the cold water made her gasp. "You call this pleasant?"
He grinned as he set her on her feet. "You'll get used to it." His hands moved around in back of her head to loosen her braid. "I want to see your hair." He threaded his fingers through its thickness. "Silky . . . I've always loved your hair." His fingers grabbed the soft mass, holding her head back as he looked into her eyes. "I love you."
She stood there, staring up at him. She couldn't tell him how she felt. She couldn't put herself in his power again.
"But of course you don't believe me." He smiled with an effort. "Are you still cold?"
"No," she whispered.
His hands fell away from her and he stepped back. He deliberately hit the water, splashing her in the face. "How about now?" he asked with a wicked grin.
She sputtered. "Are you trying to drown me?"
"Just following Caleb's example. You seemed to find him amusing." He splashed her again.
"Ruel, that was—" His face was alive with such boyish deviltry that she broke into helpless laughter. He had changed from sober intensity to wicked mischief in the space of a heartbeat, and she welcomed the transformation with relief. "Let's swim."
He shook his head. "I'd rather splash you. You looked like an indignant ten-year-old," Ruel said. "I'd like to have seen you that young."
In the hour that followed she felt as if he had given her back the childhood she had never had as they played and swam in the water. She felt young and joyous and without a care. She was disappointed when at sundown Ruel waded back to shore and began to dress.
She followed him with reluctance. The air was still warm, but she shivered as the breeze touched her damp body. She hurriedly dried herself on the blanket and started to pull on her clothes.
He picked up her shirt from the ground and held it for her.
She slipped her arms into the sleeves. "I'm capable of dressing myself."