The Lady and the Lion by Kay Hooper Page B

quiet.
    Content to lie in his arms no matter what time it was, she found herself thinking again that she should be shocked by all this. Or worried. At least mildly. It didn't seem quite decent not to be.
    Odd the way one's upbringing prodded the conscience. Her mother, raised in a somewhat strict and socially visible family and married young to a British nobleman of frightening intelligence and cool manners, had depended a great deal on the conventions. She had clung to them because the rules were ironclad, unchanging in a world where so much else seemed to change from one day to the next. If anything, her husband's position and career had imposed an even stricter set of rules, where appearance was terribly important and doing the "correct" thing was at all times demanded. Erin's mother had lived by those rules.
    Too young during the sixties to notice the whole world was rebelling, Erin had listened to her mother and, later, to the teachers who had sometimes taught manners and morals along with more academic subjects. And all of it, she realized now, might well be another reason she had so dutifully complied with her father's wishes these last years. Daughters were supposed to obey their fathers.
    But Erin, unlike her gentle, soft-spoken mother, hadn't believed in all the rules—she had simply accepted them, she knew now. If it were otherwise, she'd be shocked to her bones for having broken most of them.
    She wasn't very worried about it, just dimly bothered. Right or wrong, what she felt in Keith's arms was too wonderful to be a mistake. No matter how it ended, she had no regrets.
    Needing, suddenly, to look at his face, she worked an elbow underneath herself and raised up. His eyes opened almost immediately, very vivid as they met hers.
    "Hello," she said solemnly. He didn't look sleepy at all, and she realized he'd been lying here awake just as she had.
    Curling one hand around the nape of her neck, Keith drew her toward him far enough to kiss her thoroughly. "Hello," he murmured when he could, gazing at her beautiful face with an unconscious fascination. There was something different about her, something he sensed as well as saw. After their night together she was more... vibrant, more alive. As if a gauzy veil had been stripped away, leaving her fresh and bright and new.
    "Do you realize it's after eight o'clock?" she said after glancing over at the nightstand. "I haven't slept this late since I was a child."
    "You had a busy night," he said, and felt his heart lurch when her lips curved in a smile so intimate it was like an actual physical caress.
    "Yes, we did, didn't we? Did you wake me up around dawn? I think I remember that."
    "You'd better remember it," he growled, the memory vivid in his own mind. A new experience, making love to her in the darkness, only touch guiding them.
    "You're insatiable," she said, then added musingly but in a faintly pleased tone, "And so am I. It's disgraceful."
    Even though she had been totally responsive since the first time he had touched her, and had shown not a single flicker of embarrassment, hesitation, or self-consciousness in all the hours since, he had half-expected some sign of withdrawal this morning. It was the traditional moment for doubts, regrets, and coolheaded reason to prevail, and since she had taken her first lover—on his definitely one-sided terms—the night before, it wouldn't have been surprising if the morning after had brought with it a hint of some distress.
    But if she felt anything other than contentment in the situation, it didn't show. And, gazing into the bright depths of her green eyes, he knew that she was content. Instead of reassuring him, the knowledge made him more afraid than ever he was going to hurt her.
    "You're looking fierce," she said consideringly. "What's wrong, Keith?"
    "Nothing," he said, because it was too late to stop this. He knew damned well he couldn't stay away from her now if somebody held a knife to his throat. Hell, he hadn't