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  Wearily she removed her boots and socks and stretched out on the thin foam pad, moving over to make as much room as possible for Ben. He shoved the pack into the far corner, placed the pistol close at hand, then removed his own boots and socks. He clicked the flashlight off, and darkness consumed them, darkness so complete it had a certain solidity to it. Ben lay down beside her, his big body hot and comforting.

  Now that she had relaxed, all the things she had refused to let herself think about during the day came rushing over the barricades. Rick was dead.

  “He told me to run,” she murmured. “I wasn’t blind to Rick’s shortcomings; we were never close. Most of the time I think he actually hated me. But when he saw Dutra with the pistol and realized what was happening, his last words were for me to run.”

  “When you kept him from going off the ledge, it got his attention, made him think,” Ben replied, his deep voice quiet. “He wasn’t as much of a shit-ass after that.”

  “No,” she said, remembering the short conversations they’d had. “He wasn’t.” After a minute of silence she said, “He stole one of my dolls once, when I was little. He destroyed it, hacked it to pieces. I was nosing around in his room one day and found it. I don’t know why, but I never said anything.”

  “Were you scared of him?”

  “No. He just seemed . . . not really part of the family. I was so close to Dad, and I know now that Rick wanted to be, but I was so like Dad in temperament and interests that poor Rick didn’t have a chance. He got only the fringes of Dad’s attention. No wonder he hated me.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d never been born,” Ben said. “People are what they are. He wouldn’t have amounted to much under any circumstances.”

  “We’ll never know now, will we?” she said sadly. After another short silence she spoke again. “Vicente is dead. He was the first one Dutra shot.”

  Ben swore, then sighed. Vicente had been a steady worker, a happy-go-lucky fellow always ready for a laugh. Even the strong warning Ben had given the men hadn’t saved him.

  Jillian began to tremble. Ben felt the slight movement and turned to her, taking her in his arms and holding her as she battled the shock of reaction. His vital animal heat was comforting, and she sought to get closer.

  She felt him touch her hair, smooth it back from her face. Then his mouth covered hers, and she turned her face more fully toward him. She was quiescent, accepting both the kiss and the slow domination of it as his tongue penetrated her mouth. She began to breathe more deeply, a heavy languor stealing into her body. After all they had been through that day, she both wanted and needed him. A shock of recognition hit her: the sparring was at an end; it was time. He lifted his mouth and she sensed him leaning over her in the dark.

  “I can’t believe you’ve held me off this long,” he said in a low, guttural voice. “Let me inside you, sweetheart. Now.” There was no Supplication in his tone, only primal male determination.

  His hands were hard on her body as he removed her pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding them down her hips and legs, and off over her feet. He swept her panties down in the same movement, leaving her naked from the waist down, trembling. She felt his movements as he stripped out of his own clothes, and shut her eyes as if the act would freeze time, give her an opportunity to think.

  He was moving too fast, unwavering in his intent, and she couldn’t muster any protest or denial, couldn’t think why she would want to. Why slow him down? She had that feeling again, that sense of. . . waiting, as if the time had been long approaching and had now arrived. There was an inevitability to it. She loved him, and for a while that day she’d thought she had lost him to death. All of the squabbling competition seemed unimportant right now. He had called her his woman, and she lay there in the darkness feeling the final acceptance of it.

  He opened her legs and moved between them, mounting her. Jillian clutched his steely biceps, her nails digging into the skin. She felt him brace himself over her on one arm, while he reached down with his other hand and guided his penis to her. The first heated touch made her flinch, and he murmured, “Easy, sweetheart.”

  She tried to relax, but somehow it didn’t seem like an option she had. There was no time to prepare herself, no foreplay, only the basic act itself. He pushed into her with slow, inexorable force, squeezing his thick penis in to the hilt. She writhed beneath him, feeling unbearably stretched, on the verge of pain, her soft sheath quivering as she tried to accustom herself to his girth.

  “Shhh,” he soothed, and only then did she realize she was making small whimpering noises. He stripped her shirt off and let his weight down on her, the crisp curls on his broad, hard chest rasping against her tender breasts. She locked her arms around his shoulders, clinging desperately.

  He withdrew a little and slowly squeezed forward again, testing her tightness, shuddering with the pleasure of it. He was so aroused that he felt almost ready to climax right then, a startling realization for a man who was accustomed to drawing the sex act out for at least an hour. His testicles were drawn tight against his body, signaling how close he was to orgasm. It was going too fast; he didn’t want it to end so quickly. At last he had her naked, her arms around him holding as if she never meant to let go, her taut, firmly muscled body welcoming him, and he never wanted it to end.

  But the Lorelei of irresistible pleasure beckoned, and his body, so long denied, refused to be denied a moment longer. He began thrusting heavily, groaning as he pounded into her, feeling her sheath grow moist and supple as she clung to him. She wound her strong slim legs around his waist and he lost it. His climax slammed into him like a freight train. He hammered into her with the violent rush of semen from his body, groaning deep in his chest.

  It was over. In the silence afterward, Jillian lay still beneath him, feeling dazed and a little battered from the force of his passion. He had been overwhelming, so dominant in his need that her mind reeled from it. He lay heavily on her for a time, his chest heaving like bellows and sweat dripping down his side. When he had rested, he began slowly to thrust again.

  She moaned, softly, and he kissed her, his tongue probing deep. “It’s all right,” he said in a soothing whisper. She was slick from his climax, accepting him easily, her hips rising in an involuntary little movement to meet each inward stroke. He could take his time now; he was still hard, and knew he would come at least once more, maybe twice, but not for a while. He could savor every inch of her, the smooth satin of her skin, the hot wet silk of her sheath.

  He drew it out, with slow, steady thrusts. He felt the tension grow in her, felt the subtle vibration of arousal as her slender body tightened and lifted to him.

  “Ben,” she said, just his name, but laden with desire.

  It was as perfect as he had known it would be, and yet it was more. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity, the overwhelming need to brand her body with his, using the heat of ecstasy. No other woman had ever mattered as much, had ever fit him so tightly, been so wonderfully perfect. He’d never been this excited before, every inch of him alive, or so aware of every tiny sound and movement she made.

  She began heaving under him, crying out in a soft, strained, mindless sound. He slid his hands beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her up as he thrust more solidly into her. He felt the deep, delicate inner shivers around his penis as she convulsed in his arms.

  He didn’t stop.

  The day had been an endless nightmare to Jillian. The night became endless too, but in a different way. He knew just how to wring another response from her, even when she thought it was impossible, when she wanted nothing so much as sleep. He whispered to her, lovemaking words, both sweet and raunchy. He lavished attention on her breasts, and between her thighs.

  When they did finally sleep, he was still on top of her, still penetrating her. Several times during the night he grew hard within her and made love to her again. Or had he ever stopped? The darkness gave everything an aura of un