Circle Of Death

Chapter Fifteen

They spent the rest of the day checking out the addresses of the various Marline and Mariel Thomases, only to come up empty every time. They were all either too young or too old. No one matched the images of the child in her mind.

Not that that meant anything, Kirby thought sourly. She closed her eyes, leaning back in the car seat.

Trina had looked nothing like her memories, either, so why Kirby herself was so certain she would recognize the witch was a puzzle.

Doyle climbed into the car and shoved several plastic bags onto the back seat.

"You've got enough food in those bags to feed an army," she said with amusement. "You planning to settle in for a long haul?"

"No, mainly because it wouldn't be safe. I am, however, starved."

"That mean you're planning to cook?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"

"Sort of." Helen was the expert in that field. She'd only ever dabbled, and most of the time with disastrous effects. Which was why she'd been relegated to cooking only two nights out of seven.

" 'Sort of' will ruin my soufflé."

"You're kidding… aren't you?"

He grinned and started the engine. "Certainly am. Can't stand souffle."

She rolled her eyes. "So what are we having?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

"You can be very irritating, you know that?"

He flashed her another grin and sent her heart into cartwheels. "Thank you. It's a skill I work hard at."

He pulled out into the traffic. She studied his profile, her artist instincts stirred by the sheer perfection of it. She'd paint it one day, though no doubt from memory. Pain twinged through her. She bit her lip and wondered again why he seemed so attracted to her. Was it just the danger pulling them close, or was there something more? He had the looks, and no doubt the money, to pick and choose as he pleased.

Surely an unwanted brown mouse from Nowhereville, Australia didn't have a hope of holding his interest for long.

And that was what was holding her back, she realized. As much as she wanted to make love to him, she was afraid that once she did, she'd want more. Want the whole box of dice. And she just couldn't believe he'd ever be content to stay with someone like her. Damaged goods, Helen had once called them both.

Thieves didn't take damaged goods—they only went after the very best.

"I am going after the very best," he murmured.

She briefly closed her eyes. If only I could believe you.

But that was the trouble. She couldn't believe him. Couldn't trust that he meant anything he said. She'd learned the hard way that the world was filled with thieves—some, like Doyle, stole artifacts, jewelry and no doubt the occasional heart. Others, like the caretaker, stole innocence.

"Don't you dare put me in the same category as that animal," he said, voice cold and flat. "We're nothing alike."

"I know, and that's not what I meant." She hesitated, not really certain just where those thoughts had been headed, other than the fact that if Doyle stole her heart and then walked away, she'd never recover.

Not without Helen around to pick up the pieces.

Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and risked a quick glance at him. His face was as stony as his thoughts. She'd annoyed him.

Hurt him.

And that was something she had never meant to do. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's just… I just need time." Time to know you. Time to know me . In two brief days, her life had irrevocably changed, and even the memories of her past had proven to be false. How could she possibly believe her feelings in such a situation? How could he? "You can't just walk into my life and expect me to be swept away on a tide of emotion. It's not that easy."

"It is that easy—if you trust."

But that's the whole problem. I can't trust.She'd picked up most of the pieces and had continued on with her life—but her ability to trust people—men—had never fully recovered. Somewhere deep inside her there was still a scared little girl hiding under the covers and listening to the sounds of trust being shattered.

She rubbed her forehead. Her headache was beginning to come back again. "I really don't want to discuss all this right now."

He glanced at her, frustration evident in the blue of his eyes. "We have to discuss it sometime."

"Yes. But not now." Not until she knew whether she actually had a future to discuss.

They drove on in silence. The night shadows were creeping across the sky by the time they returned to the farmhouse.

Doyle ushered her through the back door. "Go have a nice long bath. I'll prepare dinner."

"You don't want me to help?"

He raised a dark eyebrow and dumped the bags on the bench. "Did Helen?"

She grinned. "Well no, but that doesn't mean I can't help you."

"I think I'll take it as a sign." He tossed her one of the plastic bags. "Don't turn on the light. Use the candle I bought instead."

She looked inside the bag. There wasn't only a candle and lighter, but bath oil, herbal shampoo, conditioner, and soap. "Why did you buy me these? I did bring my own toiletries, you know."

"You have a ceremony to perform at midnight, remember? There are rituals to follow if you don't want to attract the wrong sort of attention. One of them is cleansing."

Unease slithered through her. She'd all but forgotten about the ceremony. "So using these will help keep the bad things away?"

He nodded. "Partly. There are other things we have to do, but we'll worry about them later. Go have your bath. Let me worry about that side of things."

When it came to magic, she had no choice but to trust him. She'd never really taken much notice of the ways of witchcraft, even though Helen had often warned she might regret it. Still, she hesitated. "What about the bandages I'm wearing?"

"Take them off. The wounds should be healed by now anyway."

She nodded and walked into the bathroom. Turning on the taps, she poured in the oil then sat on the edge of the tub. Scents filled the air—an odd combination of basil, geranium and pine, mixed in with something else she couldn't define. It was relaxing and yet somehow invigorating.

She turned off the water, then stripped and climbed in. For a long time she lay there, enjoying the heat and the moment of peace. When the water finally began to cool, she reluctantly sat up and washed.

Climbing out, she dragged some clothes out of her bag and dressed. Then she blew out the candle and walked barefoot to the kitchen.

Only to stop in surprise at the doorway. Doyle hadn't just cooked, he'd created magic. A pristine white cloth covered the table. Candles flickered in the center, flushing warmth across the length of the table but barely touching the darkness beyond that. Wine glasses and cutlery glimmered in the golden light, and the mismatched patterns on the side plates somehow added to the appeal.

He appeared out of the shadows and walked towards her, eyes as warm as the atmosphere he'd created. "Table for two? I think we can manage to squeeze you in. This way, my lady."

He offered her his arm. Smiling, she hooked her arm through his and let herself be led to the table.

"For your eating pleasure tonight," he continued, seating her, "we have a warm chicken salad, followed by a simple, but pleasant dessert of strawberries soaked in Contreau accompanied by freshly whipped cream."

He picked up a paper napkin, fluffed it out and placed it on her lap. His fingers brushed her legs, and warmth shivered through her. She wondered again how she was going to survive the night without giving in to desire.

Wondered if she even really wanted to survive.

He opened the wine and poured them both a glass. Then he disappeared into the shadows, coming back moments later with the two meals. He placed them, then sat opposite her and picked up his wine.

"To the bravest woman I have ever met," he said softly.

Heat flushed through her cheeks. She wasn't brave. If she was, she wouldn't be sitting here dithering about her feelings for this man. She'd take what fate offered and let the future worry about itself.

She picked up her glass and met his gaze. No matter what her personal fears might be, right now he deserved some sort of honesty from her. "To the only man I have ever been tempted to trust. To the sexiest thief I have ever met."

His smile shimmered right though her, settling warmly in her heart. He touched his glass lightly to hers then motioned to her salad. "Eat, before the chicken gets cold."

She ate. The meal was perfect, soothing her hunger without sitting like a weight in her stomach. She sighed with contentment when she finished and picked up her wine.

"Thank you," she said. "That was delicious."

He smiled and leaned back in the chair, his face half in the shadows, blue eyes gleaming cobalt in the flickering light. "Thank my mother. She was the one who insisted her sons know how to cook."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sons?"

He nodded. "I have three brothers, all younger, and two sisters, both older."

She couldn't help a twinge of envy. It must have been wonderful growing up with so many siblings.

Noisy, but wonderful. Especially at Christmas. Or birthdays. She blinked. Today was her birthday.

She took a drink then said, "Do you see much of them?"

"No. They all live in Oregon, in a small town up near the Crater Lake National Park. My work—past and present—has always conspired to keep me away. But I'm in the process of buying a house up there and hope to correct that."

His words sliced through her. She lowered her gaze, concentrating instead on her wine. So, the truth was there for them both to see. No matter what happened between them, he wouldn't stay here in Australia.

"Kirby—" She raised a hand. "Don't." Don't tell me you care for me. Don't tell me you might love me, because in the end, it doesn't really matter. Nothing did, beyond the fact that he would go back to America.

Take heed, my foolish heart.Because knowing he would leave didn't alter the fact that she wanted him as she'd never wanted a man before.

"I'm not—" She met his gaze. "Are you going to tell me you're not going back?"

"No, but—" "Then I don't want to hear it."

"And you have the gall to call me irritating." He sighed and thrust a hand through his dark hair.

"Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Take me with you, she thought, and knew that just wasn't an option. His work was too important—to him, and to the other people he was destined to save. He didn't need someone permanently in his life, particularly when that someone was as flawed as she was.

She raised her wine glass. "How about pouring me some more wine."

He did as she requested, then collected the plates and side plates and rose. "Do you feel like dessert now, or would you rather wait a little?"

"I think I'll let dinner settle a bit more, thanks," she said.

He disappeared into the darkness. Flame flickered briefly, then a tiny patch of warmth appeared. "I can't see how a flame that size is going to do you much good," she said, amused. "Why not borrow one of the candles on the table?"

"Because this candle suits my purpose just fine." He appeared out of the shadows, the tiny flame becoming a birthday candle sitting on the top of a cupcake.

"Happy birthday," he said, placing the cake in front of her. "Don't forget to make a wish."

Her smile felt tremulous. She blew out the candle, then closed her eyes and made her wish. Time was all she asked for. Time with Doyle.

She opened her eyes, and he held out a small, carefully wrapped present. She didn't take it. Could barely see it though the tears stinging her eyes.

"You shouldn't have." Her throat felt so constricted her voice came out little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Birthdays are important." His smile was warm, sexy, and reflected deep in his eyes. "And you should never let one go by uncelebrated. Go on, open your present. It doesn't bite. I promise."

She smiled, and with trembling fingers began unwrapping the dark-red tissue paper. As the layers fell away, a long, plush velvet box was revealed. Her stomach churned. It looked expensive. Felt expensive.

I don't deserve something like this… She bit her lip and carefully opened the box. Her breath caught.

Inside, attached to a flat silver chain, was a delicate, black stone panther. She picked up the necklace, and the panther's eyes sparkled in the golden candlelight. Diamonds, she knew without doubt.

"It's beautiful," she said. "But I can't—" "You can and will," he said. "Here, let me."

He took the chain from her and placed it around her neck. His fingers caressed her skin, chasing warmth down to her toes. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"I couldn't resist buying this when I saw it," he said, his words brushing heat past her ear. "Especially given your reaction when you discovered I shapeshift."

"A constant reminder of what you are, huh?" Her throat was so constricted her words came out little more than a whisper. She quickly drank some wine, but all it did was make her head spin. Or was that merely a side effect of his closeness?

"Or maybe, a reminder of what I am not."

She tilted her head back and met his gaze. "Will you show me?"

He frowned and brushed his fingers down her cheek and neck. A tremor ran through her, and deep down a familiar ache began.

"Are you sure you're ready to see it?"

"No." But she was sure she had to see it before their relationship could progress any further. To trust him, she had to know him—both versions of him.

He nodded, as if agreeing with her thoughts. "Then watch," he said and stepped away from her.

For an instant, nothing happened. Then motes of light began to appear around him, fairy dust that glimmered silver and gold. It snaked up his body, blurring the night and his outline as it did so, until there was nothing left of him except for that glitter. Then it was gone, and in his place stood a huge black panther with dark blue eyes.

She gasped softly, but not from fear. Far from it. His shifting shape had been nothing like she'd expected. It was both awe-inspiring and beautiful, two words she'd never thought could be connected to such an act.

The shimmer appeared again, sweeping up from the big cat's tail and encompassing its body. Once again, Doyle stood before her.

"You didn't run screaming from the room, so I take that as a good sign." Despite his easy grin, there was a hint of worry in his eyes and in his thoughts.

She nodded and somehow found her voice. "That was amazing." She hesitated, a thousand questions tumbling through her mind. "But where the hell do your clothes go?"

He laughed, a rich sound that was edged with relief. "I don't know. It's just part of the magic, I suppose.

I never really questioned it."

"Is there anything that doesn't change with you?"

He nodded. "Anything that's pure silver. That chain wouldn't, for instance."

She touched the panther. It felt warm against her skin, almost as if it were a living thing rather than being made of stone. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Pure silver is immune to the force of magic."

"Are your whole family shapeshifters?"

He nodded and sat down in the chair nearest hers. "Except for my mother and one of my sisters."

"And your children when you have them?"

He regarded her for a minute, a slight smile tugging his lips. "My children, when we have them, will have a seventy-five percent chance of being shifters."

She frowned. "Why seventy-five percent? If your mom is a normal human, why wasn't the distribution of shifter genes fifty-fifty?"

He shrugged. "Obviously the shifter gene is stronger. I'm not a scientist, Kirby. I'm a retired thief turned private investigator. Don't expect me to explain the technicalities. It just is , as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, a fat lot of good that does my curiosity." She hesitated and sipped her wine. "What about control? Is there ever a time you come close to losing it?"

"It hasn't happened yet." Amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I can see the question burning through your mind, and the answer is no—not even in the heat of passion."

Heat flushed through her cheeks. "Well, I guess that's something of a relief for everyone involved."

He raised an eyebrow. "Everyone? Don't know about you, but I generally only go to bed with one woman at a time."

"And I," she said, in the haughtiest tone she could manage. "Don't go to bed with any."

He grinned and saluted her with his glass. Then he froze. Her stomach fell through to her toes. "What?"

she said, voice edgy and harsh.

"A car coming up the driveway." He quickly blew out the candles. Lights swept across the curtained windows, and the sound of a car engine seemed as loud as thunder in the silence.

Alarm swept through her. He touched her hand, squeezing her fingers lightly. "Don't panic."

"But what if they come into the house? What are we going to do?"

"Nothing yet. Stay here."

He left the chair and disappeared into the darkness. A moment later she saw the curtain move slightly to one side. In the stillness, two doors slammed. Jaunty whistling moved away from the house, and a water pump kicked into gear.

He's watering the stock.

What if he wants to feed them? Our car is in the shed.

He's making no move toward the shed just yet. If he does, I'll deal with it.He hesitated . Someone's moving toward us. Grab the glasses and wrap everything else in the tablecloth.

She quickly gathered everything, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold the glasses. He was beside her in an instant, one hand full of plastic bags and wet dishcloths. He took her free hand and led her quickly down the hall. Did you leave much mess in the bathroom?

Other than a damp towel, my bag and those oils you gave me, no.

Wait here.He let her go and disappeared again. She heard him moving about, then the sound of vigorous wiping. What are you doing?

Wiping the moisture off the bathtub.

Behind them, in the living room, came the sound of a key scraping in the lock. She shifted from one foot to the other, battling the urge to run. Hurry.

Hurrying will get us caught. Caution is the key, believe me.

Tension drew her muscles so tight they were beginning to ache. In the living room, the door opened and lights were swept on. If you don't move right now, it'll be caution that gets us caught.

He appeared out of the bathroom and ushered her into the nearest bedroom. Quick, under the bed.

She pushed aside the comforter and slithered under the old fashioned, high-off-the-floor wooden bed.

Dust stirred, tickling her nose. She held back a sneeze and pulled in the bags, towels and tablecloth that he shoved in, trying to leave him some room.

He'd barely pulled the comforter back into place when the hall lights came on. Footsteps approached, loud and heavy despite the carpet. Fear squeezed her throat so tightly she could barely breathe, and for an instant, it felt like her heart was going to leap out of her chest. She closed her eyes, battling the terror pounding through her.

It's okay. We're okay.He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, but his attention was on the hall outside. They were hardly out of the woods yet.

The footsteps moved past their bedroom hideaway, and another light burned brightly. After a few seconds came the sound of soft tinkling.

Despite her fear, laughter bubbled through her. They were using the damn toilet!

Minutes ticked by. Finally, the toilet flushed, lights went out and the footsteps moved back down the hall. But they didn't entirely retreat. From the kitchen came the sound of running water.

They're filling something.He shifted around until he was facing her.

Oh God, don't tell me they're settling in to have a cup of coffee.

Could be. There's nothing much we can do but wait them out.

He pulled her close. Then he slipped his hand down to her rear, and pulled her closer still, so that every inch of their bodies seemed to be touching. Her breath caught, and her heart raced, but not from fear this time. Far from it. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire, and part of that came from the deliciously erotic sensation of lying here in the darkness with him, while the chance of discovery loomed only a few footsteps away.

We shouldn't… this is dangerous.Lord, even her mind-voice sounded breathless.

We're only lying here. What can be so dangerous in that?But even as the words whispered into her mind, he slowly began undoing her shirt buttons.

You need to concentrate on our intruders, not on trying to seduce me.She tried to add a touch of sarcasm to her thoughts, but failed miserably. They still sounded as breathy as she was feeling.

In reality, we're the intruders here. And if they move this way, I'll hear them, believe me.

She did believe him. He'd made a successful living from being a thief and had no doubt been caught in tougher situations than this.

His amusement washed through her. But never before have I had such a lovely way to pass the time.

The last of her buttons came undone. He brushed the shirt back over her shoulders, then teasingly ran his fingers across her bra and up her neck, until his hand cupped her cheek.

His lips grazed hers, feather light and tender. I'll stop if you want me to .

She closed her eyes. For an instant, she considered telling him to do just that. To back away and leave her alone. But only for half a second. He was going back to America once the murderer was caught, no matter what happened between them. Did she really want to lose him without at least knowing his touch, without feeling his caress, inside and out?

No, she thought. Definitely not. Damn it, she'd spent most of life erring on the side of caution, and what had it achieved her? Very little. Certainly not happiness.

And if she lost her heart in the process of making love to him, what of it? At least she would have finally taken a chance, stepped beyond the shackles of memories and mistakes and done something simply for the hell of it.

Happiness doesn't happen all that often, Helen had been fond of saying . So seize it by the scruff of its neck and enjoy it while it lasts. Let the future worry about itself.

And just this once, she was going to do precisely that.

Don't stop.She turned her face and kissed his palm. He shifted his hand, running a thumb lightly across her lips. She caught it in her mouth, sucking on it gently.

His breath seemed to catch, and heat flowed through the link, setting her body alight. She let his thumb go and leaned forward, kissing his lips, exploring the warmth of his mouth with her tongue, greedy to taste him more fully.

He skimmed a hand across her shoulders and down her back, catching her bra and deftly undoing it.

She pulled back a little, her heart pounding and breathing harsh. Lord, they'd barely even kissed and already she was aching with need. In some ways, it was scary just how attuned she was to him.

If we do have to run, this is going to be get awfully embarrassing,she thought, as he pushed the bra to one side.

That it will.He didn't seem unduly worried by the prospect. He ran a finger around the outline of her nipples, teasing them to aching life without actually touching them.

You're not playing fair.She tugged his T-shirt free from the waistband of his jeans, pushing it upwards.

He caught her hand, taking the T-shirt and deftly pulling it off.

You did that a little too easily. Are you sure you don't make a habit of trying to seduce women in confined spaces?

His amusement shimmered through her, spreading like a wave through her body, tingling even her toes. I have to admit, it's not some place I've ever been tempted to try before.

Oh yeah? So where have you been tempted to try?She touched his chest, running her fingers down the plane of his stomach, cupped her hand around the hard length of him, gently rubbing through his jeans. Desire burned through the link between them, ready to explode.

My favorite would be under the stars.He ran his hand down her stomach and began undoing the button on her jeans.

Her breath caught, the anticipation of his touch becoming a pulse deep inside.

There is something very erotic about two people making love under the light of a moon on a warm summer night,he continued, undoing her zipper.

There was something very erotic about making love under a dusty old bed with the chance of discovery only a quick gasp away, too. He pushed past her panties and touched her, slipping his finger down her wetness and thrusting inside. She shuddered, pushing against his hand and barely restraining her moan.

His lips caught hers. She kissed him hard and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him against her until her breasts were deliciously squashed against his chest and all she could feel was him caressing, thrusting, deep inside her.

Outside, in the hall, footsteps sounded.

Deep inside the ache was growing. Oh God, stop… stop , her mind begged, even though it was the last thing she wanted.

He stopped. She leaned her forehead against his chest, her breath ragged. The thunder of his heart rang through her ears, but failed to drown out the thump of footsteps moving past. The bathroom light came on again.

What is it with these people? They haven't got a toilet at home?

His smile shone through her. He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. It's our male visitor this time.

She looked up. How can you tell?

Lifted the toilet seat.

She smiled and began planting tiny kisses across his chin. He raised a hand, cupping her cheek, catching her mouth and deepening the kiss again. The toilet flushed and the footsteps moved away. A few seconds later the back door slammed.

Alone again. Shall we continue this in a more comfortable position?He hesitated. Or would you rather stop altogether?

You stop now, and I think I will explode with frustration.

You wouldn't be the only one.He smiled, and kissed her briefly, tenderly. Their minds merged, and just for an instant, his desire scorched through her. But right behind it, following like a tidal wave, came his feelings. She closed her eyes, shaken to the core. She didn't deserve the depth of those emotions. Didn't know if her own feelings could ever truly match his.

"I don't expect them to. Not yet." He brushed the hair from her eyes, his touch shivering heat through her heart, her soul. "You asked for time before, and that's all I want myself. Time together, so that you can more fully understand both my feelings and yours. Because those feelings are there, and so strong that I can almost taste them."

Her gaze searched his, and she wondered if he was right, or whether he was merely hoping it to be the truth. The touch of wistfulness in his tone suggested it might be the latter, but right then, she didn't really care. They had this moment to enjoy, and for once in her life, fear of the unknown was going to take a back seat.

"Can we please take this discussion elsewhere? The dust is starting to get up my nose."

He laughed softly and rolled out from under the bed. She followed, and he wrapped a hand around her forearm, helping her up then pulling her close.

"Now, where were we?" He began sliding her shirt off her shoulders.

Excitement thrummed through her. She cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. "Here? I thought we were moving to some place more comfortable. You can hardly call a single bed that."

"Depends who's in it with you." His grin was roguish and made her heart do somersaults. Her bra quickly joined her shirt on the floor. "Now, let's do something about those jeans, huh?"

He knelt, his tongue trailing heat down her stomach. She shivered in delight, anticipation growing. He slid her jeans and panties down her legs, allowing her to step out. Then he delved into her moistness, the caress of his tongue whisper soft and oh-so arousing. She gasped, excitement pulsing through her, until every nerve ending screamed for release. He rose, claiming her mouth again, kissing her hard. Slipped his hand between her legs and stroked her, gently at first, then faster when the tremors began. She moaned, clinging to him, thrusting against his touch, climaxing hard and fast. Wished he was inside, climaxing with her, and yet not wanting it to end so soon.

"Nor shall it," he murmured. "That, my love, was merely an entrée." He kissed her neck, her shoulders, then captured her nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly.

She gasped, and the embers she thought well sated sprang back to life. She pulled away from his touch.

"Then by all means, let's share the entrée."

He arched an eyebrow and raised his hands, a teasing smile on his lips. "My body is yours to play with."

"And a beautiful toy it is, too," she murmured as she knelt.

She slowly undid his jeans and eased them down, taking his shorts with them. Allowed him to step out, then slowly ran her tongue back up his leg and teasingly caressed the hard length of him until heat filled the link and threatened to burn them both.

She rose and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him against her, until the heat of his body seemed to invade every pore. She kissed him urgently, felt his hands cup her bottom and draw her closer, until his erection pressed deep into her stomach.

He kissed her neck, her breasts, trailing fire through her body. She groaned and pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him and pressing him against her moistness. Slowly, teasingly, she rocked back and forth. God, she wanted him inside so bad she ached. But not yet. Not just yet.

He made a needy sound deep in this throat and reached for her, pulling her down against his chest and kissing her hard. She continued to rock, teasing them both, until the flames of desire burned through their minds and threatened to consume them.

Deep within her the trembling was growing, becoming a tide almost overloading her senses. She rubbed harder, heard his response—a quick, sharp gasp. Could feel him quivering and knew he was battling for control.

He released her lips, then ducked his head and caught her nipple, sucking hard. She gasped, and the tide became a wave of pleasure she could no longer hold at bay. Needing him inside, she shifted and captured him fully. He groaned, thrusting urgently, pushing her over the brink into ecstasy. She moaned and rode him hard, until their tremors had finally eased and they both were spent.

She collapsed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if he never meant to let her go. She closed her eyes and wished that were the case. And the doubts rose once more, teasing her insecurities to life.

"Tell me," she said into the silence. "Have you got a girlfriend back home in America? A wife, even?"

For several heartbeats he didn't answer, then he sighed softly. "Thieving was a job, not a philosophy."

She looked up at him. "What has that got to do with the question at hand?"

"Everything." He grabbed her waist and somehow reversed their positions. For several seconds, his gaze searched hers, then he smiled a warm, loving smile that sang through her soul.

"If I make a commitment to someone, I honor that commitment." He cupped her cheek, caressing her lips with his thumb. She didn't move—couldn't move—pinned by the emotion in his eyes as much as the weight of his body. "I've had girlfriends, yes, but the emphasis should be placed on friends. I have never felt the need to take it any further. But after so many years of disbelief and denial, I have discovered I am my father's son after all."

His words confused and, in some sense, frightened her. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You need to know where I stand, and I guess I understand that." He hesitated, and the sudden seriousness in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

Don't say any more, she wanted to say. I'm just not ready to hear any more. But the words refused to come out, and all she could do was stare at him, an odd mix of yearning and trepidation filling her.

"I have never said this to anyone else. Before now, before I met you, I thought I never would." He hesitated again, and she felt her mouth go dry.

"Marry me," he added softly.