“No, by God, you’ve accused me of coldness, but howcan you, when you can feel how hot my body is againstyours? You’ve said I have none of the red-blooded passionof my sex, but you don’t know. You,” he gasped, pressingagainst her with a hard thrust of his hips, “you will know it—the depth of my passion. But you will.”

“You don’t love me,” she said slowly. “You’ve looked at me the same way from the instant we met.”His grip tightened on her waist. He leaned into her on a hiss. “Don’t tell me I don’t love you. Don’t you dare tell me that, Margaret. I have loved you since the moment you read my brother’s book to me. I love that you are the one woman I can trust with my weakness, that you know all the dark parts of me and do not turn away. I love the fierceness with which you protect the ones you love, even when they don’t deserve it. I love every last inch of you, and I want you for my own.” His words were hot, fiercely possessive, and yet he leaned his forehead against hers gently. “Although God knows, I don’t deserve you.”

“I don’t know when I’ll get to send you another balloon. I know it probably won’t get to you. You’ve never answered and I know that even if you got my letters, you could never write back.”

“No, lady, you didn’t have sex with me, you had sex with my clone. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

“You’ve seen me at my worst. Maybe you should see me at my best.”My words hang between us, heavy and charged, and I don’t know what the fuck I am doing.“When are you at your best?” she asks hesitantly. And I can see from the determined look on her face that she is trying hard not to feel intimidated. I’m impressed. She’s like a kitten standing up to a lion. “In bed.”

“Okay, rule number one: if you do not understand something, you need to stop me and tell me you don’t understand. If I ask if you’ve got it and you say you’ve got it but you don’t really have it, then it’s not my fault that you haven’t got it. Got it?”