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  Diaz gently kissed her forehead, then withdrew and tucked the covers around her again, and left as quietly as he’d entered.

  Milla lay there, drowsing and trying to decide what was different, for about a minute. She needed to get up and clean herself as she usually did after they made love, but she was so sleepy now and, really, she didn’t feel wet—

  She came fully awake, aware of what had happened. Or rather, what hadn’t happened. He hadn’t come. He’d seen to her pleasure, then left without taking his own.

  She was out of bed and moving before the thought finished. As soon as she entered the short hallway, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. She pushed open the door and saw him through the clear shower door. He stood with his head bowed and one arm braced against the shower wall in front of him, water beating down on him as he slowly worked his other fist up and down.

  No. As she pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it to the floor, everything in her rebelled at leaving him to this lonely release after he’d so unselfishly seen to hers. She jerked the shower door open and stepped in. “I believe that’s mine,” she said, reaching out to still his fist, then replacing it with her own.

  Slowly he raised his head, and she was taken aback by the fierceness in his dark gaze. “Don’t do this unless you mean it,” he rasped.

  She didn’t hesitate at the ultimatum. She shook her hair back out of her face as the warm water rained down on her head. His shaft was iron hard in her hand, and in her hand wasn’t where she wanted it. She didn’t let herself think; she just reached up and gripped the shower pipe and used it to lever herself up so she could wrap her legs around his hips. She wasn’t high enough, so she braced one arm on his shoulders and pushed herself higher, trying to maneuver so she could ease down on his thrusting erection.

  With a growl he wrapped one arm around her hips and pulled her against him, dipping his head down to close his mouth over her left nipple. His penis pushed up between her legs; gasping, she adjusted her position just a little, then let herself begin to slide down, stretching, enveloping him in her wet heat. He released her nipple as she slowly dropped down, a rough sound catching in his throat.

  Just as he’d done to her, she slowly moved up and down, caressing him with her body, drawing out his response. He ground his teeth together, fighting not to come when she was just as determined he would. Frustrated, she wondered why he was holding back—until she heard herself moan, and realized the friction was working on her, too.

  The battle there in the shower was in close-combat conditions. With the clinging grip of her body she tried to wring a climax from him, locking her legs around him and pumping hard. He slowed her down with that one arm around her hips, grinding her against him and sending her response rocketing.

  The warm water began to go, but the heat generated by their bodies was so intense she scarcely noticed. Diaz turned her so they were out of the spray, breaking her grip on the shower pipe and bracing her against the tile wall. Milla gripped his head with both hands, kissing him with all the fierceness she could muster; then she lost the battle and her head arched back as she began to climax. With an inhuman sound, as if he’d been pushed beyond his limits, he jerked convulsively and began pumping into her with short, hard thrusts that took him to the hilt and made her cry out.

  Afterward he slumped against the wall, pinning her to the tile. She was beyond limp, beyond drowsy. He kissed her shoulder, then let his legs bend so that they slid down the wall to sprawl on the shower floor.

  Again, silence fell. She didn’t know how to explain what she’d just done, and in any case, she was acutely aware of his stated condition: Don’t do this unless you mean it. Don’t do it unless she accepted him as her lover, though arguably what had just passed between them made that a moot point. Don’t do it unless she tore down the wall she’d erected between them. Don’t do it unless she was his and he was hers, with all the ramifications of what that meant. She’d done it, and God help her, she meant it.

  Somewhere along the way she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with him. If she hadn’t loved him, his betrayal wouldn’t have hurt so much. Enraged her, yes, but not hurt. She couldn’t imagine how, in her lifetime, she’d managed to love two such different men as David and Diaz. One was sunshine, the other was darkness. Perhaps, though, it made sense: the woman she’d been before couldn’t have loved Diaz, but she was no longer that woman. She’d wanted to be, but she wasn’t. The terrible things that had happened had changed her, and there was no going back. She would always love dressing up and fussing with her hair, love decorating her surroundings, the way people did in that program that had so bewildered him, but she was a stronger, harder, fiercer woman than she’d been when Justin was snatched from her arms.

  The big question now was: Where did they go from here? She was just as lost now as she’d been that morning. The difference was, now she wasn’t alone.

  29

  Milla woke the next morning cuddled in Diaz’s arms, her head on his shoulder, the warmth of his body a source of comfort in the cold, gray December morning. Rain was pouring down, much heavier than the day before. As usual, he woke almost simultaneously, either too attuned to her to sleep after she was awake, or too inherently cautious to leave himself so vulnerable. Knowing him as she did, she assumed it was the latter.

  She sat up and stretched, easing muscles that were stiff from lying in the same position too long. Still lying beside her, he reached up and rubbed one hand over her bare back. Her hair hung in her eyes and she pushed it back, aware of what a mess it must be, since it had still been wet when they’d tumbled back into bed last night. His bed this time, not hers. Though she doubted there would be any his and hers after last night, just theirs. The prospect made her uneasy, knowing that while one essential question had been answered last night, a multitude remained undecided.

  “I’ll turn on the heat,” he said. She sat with her arms propped on her drawn-up knees and looked out the window, while he got up and left the bedroom. The house next door was empty, as was the one on the other side. In fact, theirs was the only inhabited house in this entire stretch of rental property. It made her feel as alone as if they were the only people on the planet, though she knew the locals were still here. A few times when she’d been walking on the beach, she’d passed one or two people who were also out getting their exercise, but for the most part she’d had the beach to herself. The windswept desolation had appealed to her aching heart, and in a way the pouring rain did now, too. Her mood was somber; had she made a colossal mistake last night? And even if she had, was there any going back?

  Diaz returned with her robe and slippers, then left to put on the coffee. He wasn’t very talkative in the morning—or any other time—and that suited her. She crawled out of bed and hurriedly pulled the robe around her, then dashed to the bathroom.

  The bathroom had its own radiant heater, and he’d also turned that one on. Because the bathroom was so much smaller, it heated more rapidly, and it was already almost comfortable. Milla stared at her reflection in the mirror and made a face; her hair was definitely a mess. For the first time in a long while, though, her eyes weren’t dull with misery. They weren’t exactly sparkling, but there was life in them.

  She turned on the shower and let the water heat, then got in and briskly washed her hair. The hot water felt good on her sore muscles, reminding her how demanding Diaz had been during the night. He’d been a patient lover but, after the first time, not a gentle one. He’d been hungry in a way he hadn’t been even the first time they’d made love, in a way that wasn’t completely physical. She tried to analyze the difference, but it eluded her, and she wondered if it wasn’t because Diaz himself was so elusive and remote. What was startling was that he’d been neither the night before.

  As she was drying off, she automatically touched her hip to make certain her birth control patch was there, and froze. Her fingers found only smooth skin. Horrified, she stared at herself in the mirror as she