Quicksilver by Amanda Quick Page B

quietly.
    “We are not two of a kind, Virginia. I can kill with my talent, and I have done so.”
    She stared at him. “Truly?”
    “Yes. Do you think that makes me one of the monsters?”
    She took a breath, very certain now. “No. You are a dangerous man, Owen Sweetwater, but you are not one of the monsters.”
    “You are sure of that?”
    She met his eyes in the mirror. “You would not have risked your own life to rescue Becky as well as me the other night at the Hollister mansion if you were a monster.”
    Owen drew her into his arms. She caught a fleeting glimpse of their reflections in the mirror and was quite certain that she saw lightning flash deep within the looking glass.
    “Virginia,”
Owen whispered.
    Her name sounded as though it had been dragged from the very core of his being. His kiss held the same raw power. It ignited the fires of passion that flared between them. Whatever came tomorrow, she would never forget, never regret, this night.
    With a soft, muffled cry she wrapped her arms around his neck, abandoning herself to the storm that swirled in the room. He kissed her long and hard, drinking deep.
    When she was breathless and shivering with need, he started to undress her. He undid the hooks that fastened the bodice of her gown with fingers that trembled with the force of his own desire. Knowing that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him filled her with a rush of soaring, feminine confidence. She began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt.
    He got the bodice of the gown open, revealing her thin chemise. He tugged the dress away from her breasts and pushed the heavy folds of fabric down over her hips. The gown crumpled to the floor and pooled around her ankles. He untied her petticoats. The yards of white linen splashed on top of the dress. She stood before him, knee-deep in the heap of discarded clothing, clad only in her chemise, drawers, stockings and low-heeled walking boots.
    She reminded herself that this was not the first time he had seen her partially undressed. She had been in a similar state two nights ago when he had discovered her in the mirrored room beneath the Hollister mansion. But tonight everything was different.
    Owen looked at her as though she were a creature of magic come to life.
    “You are so beautiful,” he said. He sounded awed, even worshipful.
    She was no great beauty, she thought, but in that moment she felt like a goddess.
    “So are you,” she blurted, without thinking.
    His laugh was a low, husky growl. “I don’t think so.”
    “Yes, you are.” She got the last of the buttons on his shirt undone and flattened her palms on his bare chest, fingers tangling in the crisp hair she found there. His skin was warm to the touch. The feel of the firm contours of his sleekly muscled body intensified the stirring deep inside her. “You are magnificent.”
    “You are the magnificent being here in this room.”
    She smiled. “Are we going to argue about our mutual magnificence?”
    He laughed again, sounding somehow younger, almost lighthearted, like a man who, for a time, at least, had shed a great burden and the responsibilities that accompanied it.
    “Not tonight,” he said. “This is no time to argue.”
    He crouched in front of her and undid the buttons of her walking boots. She gripped his shoulders while he eased the boots, one by one, off her feet. He slid his hands up under the chemise and drew the drawers down to her ankles.
    “Owen,” she whispered.
    He got to his feet and kissed her again, silencing her. He moved his thumb across her nipple, caressing her through the delicate fabric of the chemise.
    She was so sensitive that even the light touch sent tiny shock waves through her. She sucked in a sharp breath, not certain if what she felt was pain or pleasure. His hand stilled instantly.
    “Did I hurt you?” he asked against her mouth.
    “No.” She pulled back a little and then leaned close again to drop a feather-light kiss on the side of his hard