Far up the dim twilight fluttered

Moth wings of vapour and flame

The lights danced over the mountain

Star after star they came

In Sara’s Tents

Walter Starkie

Chapter Ten

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Catherine finally asked.

Dominic shifted his position on the hard wooden seat, trying in vain to get comfortable. They had traveled throughout the night, Catherine asleep on his shoulder until he finally woke her and insisted she go inside and lie down in his bed. Even then she had stayed just a short while, returning to the seat, demanding to take over the reins, which she did for several hours, allowing him to rest just as she had.

“We’re traveling to Ratis in the Camargue, to the festival of the Saint Maries. For years Gypsies have been going there to celebrate their patron saint, Sara Kali.”

“Tell me about it.”

He smiled. “No one knows exactly when it started. No one even knows exactly why the Gypsies started coming. But the Saint Maries—two sisters of the Blessed Virgin who bore witness to the resurrection of Christ—were said to have arrived there after their ship foundered on the rocks off shore. They say it was their Gypsy handmaiden, Sara, who saved the women’s lives.”

“Go on,” Catherine urged.

“In the twelfth century a church was built called Notre Dame de Ratis. Since the early thirteen hundreds, every year at the end of May, Catholics pilgrimaged to the church to celebrate the Saint Maries, but no one knows exactly when the Rom began to make the journey. It just seems that year after year more Gypsies come, and except for a few years during the Revolution when the church was pillaged and sacked, they still do.”

“To celebrate Black Sara,” she confirmed.

Dominic nodded. “It’s said she tends the sacred fire for the Wandering Race. They believe her body is entombed beneath the church and come to pay homage.”

Dominic grinned. “It’s also a damned fine excuse for a gigantic patshiv.”

Catherine laughed. “They never miss the chance for a party.”

“No, and this one brings Gypsies together from all over the world. It’s quite an occasion.”

Catherine found herself looking forward to it. “How long before we get there?”

“If we keep on as we are, we should arrive some time tomorrow.”

“And afterward … after the festival? Then will you take me home?”

He hesitated only a moment. “Yes.”

When Catherine sighed with relief, Dominic almost felt guilty. Then he thought of the uncertain future she would face back in England, the ruin and the heartbreak, and renewed his resolve to do as he had planned.

*   *   *

Except for a few brief stops for food and a short night of exhausted slumber, the small band of wagons continued along the road. They crossed a fertile region of crops and vineyards in the south of Provence and entered the wild Camargue, the marshy plain that reached the shores of the sea. Scrubby tamarisks dotted the landscape, sea ravens circled overhead along with plovers, herons, ducks, and even an occasional blue ibis.

The cloudless sky did nothing to block the sun, which would have been hot except for the chilly wind that swept down across the plains from the central plateau.

“It’s called the mistral,” Dominic told Catherine when she remarked on it. “It blows one day out of every two.”

“I don’t think I would like that.”

“At least it keeps away the mosquitoes and helps to dry up the mud.”

They passed clumps of stout low trees and an occasional cypress, saw great roaming herds of black cattle and shaggy white horses, and in the salt moors, rabbits, beaver, and small land tortoises.

“Look, Dominic!” Catherine pointed excitedly toward a huge flock of pink flamingos, their vibrant feathers in bright contrast to the stark white limestone hills. From their lazy attitude perched on one leg, they burst into the sky in a shower of color that left Catherine breathless.

Dominic watched her with what seemed warm admiration, pleased at her interest in this desolate expanse of reeds and salty marshlands. “There is beauty almost everywhere,” he said, “if only we take the time to look for it.”

A few short months ago, Catherine wouldn’t have understood his words the way she did now, traveling like a carefree child among a band of Gypsies as wild as the creatures around them. In some ways she would miss this life, she realized, and found the notion surprising.

As their destination grew near, they passed more herds of cattle and horses.

“Those white shaggy-maned horses are Arab,” Dominic said. “They may be small, but they’re hard-hoofed, and sure-footed, and they’ve a great deal of stamina.” The men who attended the horses and the great herds of stout black bulls wore bright-colored shirts, brown cloth breeches, and black coats lined with velvet.

“Guardians,” Dominic called them. “The great long trident they carry is called a ficheiroun—it’s used together with a rope to help with the herding.”

In Ratis, the city of the Saint Maries, they passed white plaster buildings with red-tiled roofs and traveled down narrow streets paved with granite. The women wore their hair in high chignons tied with a strip of velvet or lace, and many of the men wore white garments with a wide red sash and a black string tie.

In the distance, the huge steeple of the fortress church rose up over the flat arid land with its stiff grass and reeds. There were battlements and a watchtower, and church-bells chimed news of a wedding. They camped at the rear between it and the sea.

“Every year by tradition,” Dominic explained, “the same families camp in the same space.”

For the Pindoros, Dominic’s band, it was a fortunate custom indeed, for every inch of the barren landscape was already filled to overflowing with wagons and tents.

“Les Caraques!” a Provencial called out to the passing caravan.

Dominic wove his way expertly through the melee of vendors selling their wares, trough makers, coppersmiths, leather craftsmen, horsetraders, and kettlemenders. Women wove blankets and mats from marsh reeds, sold carved wooden clothespins and bundles of wildflowers, and children shined shoes. There were men who offered to pull teeth, or catch rats—just about anything that would earn them a coin or two.

Once camp had been set up, Catherine working hurriedly, eager to take in the sights, Dominic led her around the encampment. By afternoon, the entertainment had begun—a variety of circus performers, jugglers dodging knives, puppets, dancing bears, violinists, and fortune-tellers. Street musicians played flutes, panpipes, and tambourines.

Near the center of the camp, a fat lady and her tiny trained dogs, all of them dressed in matching pink satin dresses, performed for a crowd of laughing children. One of the dogs, a spotted mongrel with patches of fur missing from its ragged coat, perched on a stick held off the ground by two dark-skinned men. The animal seemed to be smiling at its own finesse.

“Domini!” someone called out. It was old Armand, the tinker. “I see you made it at last.” He flashed Catherine a toothless grin. “And you didn’t even lose your lady.”

“After her little adventure with you,” Dominic teased, “I kept a much closer watch on her.”

His rheumy old eyes moved over her with a look of appreciation. “A wise move, mon ami, a very wise move, indeed.”

They ate from at least half a dozen food stands, then laughing and sated, Dominic returned her to their wagon.

“I’ve a friend I need to see in the village. Why don’t you rest for a while? Tonight there will be singing and dancing—you’ll enjoy yourself more if you’re not tired.” Besides, I intend you’ll get very little sleep.

Feeling Catherine’s warm fingers entwined with his own, watching the soft way she looked at him, he knew he had waited long enough. Dominic shifted to hide his growing arousal. Tonight, at last, Catherine would be his. “I’ll be back by the time you awaken.”

Catherine started to protest that she wasn’t tired at all, but Dominic’s determined expression gave her pause. Besides, how would he know what she did?

Dominic pressed a hard kiss on her mouth, then waited for her to climb up in the wagon. As soon as he left, she climbed down. Pearsa had set up a fortune-telling booth near the front of the encampment. She would go and watch her working for a while. Catherine started in that direction then stopped short.

She had seen Pearsa at work before and remembered each of the old woman’s tricks, as well as how to read the customer’s expression and use it to make him believe. Wouldn’t it be fun to try it?

Already she was being called bala kameskro—the sun-haired Gypsy. She believed people would come. And she could earn money for Dominic and his band, just the way the other women did! For the first time she could be an asset instead of a liability.

Catherine hurried back to the wagon, searched the shelf behind the bed, and found the small gold coins with the holes in them that Dominic had given her to braid into her hair. She also found several bright ribbons and wove them into the lace trim on her blouse to make herself look more colorful. This time she wanted to be noticed—she wanted people to pay her money for dukkeripen—saying the future.

Walking through the maze of stalls, Catherine saw Pearsa working, selling Jericho flowers—resurrection plants from the Red Sea. Dominic had shown her once how the dead, brownish clumps of curled leaves and ugly dried roots—totally lifeless in appearance—would slowly uncurl when placed in water, and turn a vibrant green. The Gypsies told buyers that if you owned one, your life would change for the better in the same miraculous way.

Catherine laughed, thinking how clever the Gypsy women were and determined to be just as clever. Some ways down from Pearsa, she convinced a man to rent her his stall for just a few hours.

“You’re probably hot and thirsty after working so long,” she said to the short, balding man when he started to protest. “Surely you would like something to eat and drink? In the meantime, your place will be secure and earning you money while you aren’t even here.”

He grinned at that, appreciating her logic. “I will return in just two hours. I will expect payment then—one way or another.” His eyes fixed on her breasts, his meaning more than clear.

“You shall have your money,” Catherine said, her chin coming up. But for the first time she felt a little uneasy. What if no one stopped to have his fortune told? What if they didn’t believe her and made her return their money? Whatever happened, it was too late to back down now.

Catherine sat down in the booth, smiled, and began to ask passersby if any would like his fortune told. She discovered she needn’t have worried. The first man she smiled at tossed her a coin and sat down in the chair across from her. Catherine dropped the money down the front of her blouse as she had seen Pearsa do.

She studied his face, guessing him to be in his thirties, took in his simple homespun shirt and canvas pants, and spotted the delicate piece of lace he had stuffed into his pocket, probably a gift for a woman. He was old enough and poor enough to have experienced the standard number of problems, she decided. Since she had no beans to cast, she turned his hand over and pretended to read the lines in his palm.

“At one time, you had great trouble with your relatives and friends,” she said, praying it was true.

The man searched his memory, his light brown brows knitting together. “Why yes! Once my best friend ran away with the girl I was to marry. How did you know?”

Catherine just smiled. Again she studied his hand. “You have been three times in great danger of death.” She held her breath.

The peasant looked thoughtful. “I was very sick as a child … then there was the time I fell off the barn, and … and the time my friend and I fought bitterly over the girl I finally married.” He regarded her with a look of awe. “Go on,” he said, “I must hear more.”

And so she told him about the woman he loved and how he wanted to please her, and again he looked awed. When he left sometime later, Catherine was a second coin richer, and the man seemed well pleased. The hour passed with one customer stopping after another. Catherine dropped coin after coin into the bodice of her blouse.

It was working! She had actually done it! Recklessly, she wished Dominic would return a little early, come in search of her, and see for himself what she could do. If he were pleased with what she had done and his mood seemed right, maybe they could discuss their return to England and she could begin to tell him the truth.

With that thought in mind, she dropped another small coin into her bodice, where it clanked against the others, then jumped in surprise as a long-boned, fine brown hand followed it down.

Feeling the sweep of bold fingers on her breast as Dominic drew the money out, she bolted to her feet in outrage, knocking back the bench she had been sitting on. Hard black eyes fixed on her face, and a look so furious it could have melted stone.

“I thought I told you to get some sleep.”

What was he so angry about? “I wasn’t sleepy.”

His eyes ran over her, insolent and mocking. “Good.” One hand locked on her wrist, and he started striding away, jerking her rudely behind him.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” Dominic didn’t answer, just kept on walking, making her run to keep up. When they reached his wagon, he climbed the stairs, opened the door, and dragged her inside.

“Dominic, what on earth is the matter?”

“You need money?” he replied, turning to face her as he tugged his full-sleeved red silk shirt free of indecently snug black breeches. He pulled a pouch of coins from his waistband and tossed it in her direction. “I have more than enough, and you have exactly the favors I wish to purchase.”

“What?”

“It isn’t bad enough you insult the cohayi by pretending to practice their trade. No, you had to go behind my back, trying to get your hands on more money.”

“I meant no insult. I was doing it for you and the others. I thought I’d found a way to help out.”

“Don’t lie to me, Catherine. The truth is the money you stole from me wasn’t enough for you to get back to England—to your precious betrothed. I told you I would take you, but you didn’t believe me. You were determined to get there on your own.”

“You’re crazy!”

He unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt then stripped it away, throwing it heedlessly into the corner.

Catherine’s unease heightened at the sight of his wide muscular chest. She tried to brush past him, but he caught her up in his arms and tossed her back onto the bed.

“You think you’re in love with him, but you’re not.” He sat down opposite the bed and pulled off his boots, which landed with a heavy thud against the rough wooden planking, stood up and unbuttoned his breeches.

Catherine’s eyes fixed in horror on the narrow line of coarse black hair that angled down from his flat stomach, and the heavy bulge of his sex, pressing hard against the front of his breeches.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her voice shaky with the first real stirrings of fear. When Dominic’s only answer was a hungry look that make her mouth go dry, Catherine moved to the side of the bed, tried to edge around him, then ran for the door. Dominic’s sinewy arm locked around her waist and he hauled her against him.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’ve waited long enough.” His mouth came down over hers, hard and unforgiving. Catherine struggled against him, hating the lies that had brought him to this, fighting for a chance to explain.

She jerked her mouth free of his. “I’m telling you the truth!”

He gripped her shoulder and arched her backward, kissing her more savagely than before. Though she struggled to break away, he lifted her easily and carried her over to the bed. She felt his fingers tugging down her blouse, then the rending of fabric.

“It’s time I took what others have already taken.”

With a fresh rush of fear, his brutal words sank in. “Dominic, please—you don’t understand. Please—you must not do this!”

But he was lost in a haze of passion and pain. Pinning her wrists to the bed, he tried to kiss her, his big body moving over hers. Catherine turned her face away.

“I beg you, please, you must listen!”

It took several long moments more before her words and frantic pleas for him to stop began to sink in. Dominic looked down at her pale oval face, saw the fear, saw the hurt—and not an ounce of desire for him.

What the hell am I doing? He took a steadying breath, and his hold on her wrists grew gentle. He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to regain control. He let her go and Catherine sat up on the bed.

“You wish to claim that which others have taken,” she said softly, “but there are no others.” Her green eyes glistened with a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. “There never has been.”

Dominic frowned, his heart still hammering the last of its anger, desire still raging through his veins. “You’re not telling me you’re a virgin?”

Her pale cheeks colored with a slight rush of pink. “Yes.”

“That’s impossible. You’ve been left on your own for weeks. There isn’t a sane man alive who wouldn’t have taken you—except maybe me.” Outside the wagon, dusk had fallen. He could hear muffled laughter and singing. He raked a hand through his hair, willing his heartbeat to slow.

“I was meant for the pasha,” Catherine reminded him. “I was worth a lot more money untouched. Then Vaclav came along and … you know the rest.”

Dominic just stared at her, his mind as yet unwilling to accept what she had said.

“What I told you about the money was the truth,” Catherine continued. “I did it for you and the others. I wanted to help in some way. I had hoped I would make you proud.”

He saw the way her eyes met his and didn’t glance away, and a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders—replaced by a sharp stab of guilt.

“Damn.” Dominic released a ragged breath. His body, still hard and pulsing, ached for her with every heartbeat. Her breast peeked enticingly from behind the rent he had made in her blouse, and her soft red lips were still swollen from his kisses. God, he wanted her.

Was she really a virgin? he wondered, and felt an unwanted surge of emotion. “I’m sorry. I saw you take that money and something inside me just snapped.”

The corners of her mouth curved up in a small forgiving smile. It made her look vulnerable and all the more desirable. “It’s all right. You didn’t really hurt me.”

“I’d never hurt you,” he said softly, and in that moment he knew what he must do. “Believe that, Catherine. Whatever happens, you must always believe that.”

Her smile grew warmer, and there was a look of relief in her eyes. Dominic leaned over and kissed her, gently, ever so gently. He brushed her lips, then settled his mouth over hers. Still, he didn’t move to touch her. Catherine hesitated only a moment, then softly returned the kiss, her tongue brushing his in a tentative feather-light motion.

When she started to pull away, Dominic deepened the kiss just a little, compelling her to remain. Her lips felt warm and incredibly soft, and his body grew harder still. He wanted to plunge his tongue into her mouth, to cup her breasts, shove up her skirts, and drive himself inside her. He wanted to take her and make her his. Instead, he shifted his position beside her and gently pulled her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, fire kitten,” he whispered. “I should have trusted you—or at least let you explain.” He kissed her sweetly, an apology, a tender touch that proved how much he cared.

When Catherine slid her arms around his neck, accepting the gesture, returning it, Dominic slid his tongue into her mouth. His hand moved up her body, then slipped inside the tear in her blouse to lift and mold a breast. The heavy weight of it, the way her nipple hardened beneath his fingers, made the ache in his loins grow hotter.

“Catherine,” he whispered, his tongue moving deeper, more boldly, willing hers to return his skillful invasion. For a moment she did, and his hand worked its magic on a full ripe breast. Then she pulled away.

“We have to stop,” she said, breathing almost as heavily as he was.

“Not yet,” he said and started kissing her again. He used every skill he had ever learned, every trick of passion. He could feel her fingers lacing through his hair, feel the rapid beating of her heart. Again she drew away.

“We … have … to stop,” she repeated, her eyes glazed with passion, “before it’s … too late.”

He raked her with a last hungry glance. “It’s already too late.” Dominic pressed her back down on the bed and Catherine gasped at the feel of his hard male body over hers. Her small hands pressed against his shoulder, but he captured her mouth, and his hand slid under her skirts.

“Dear God,” she whispered as his finger sifted through the soft red-gold nest above her womanhood, searched for and found the satiny folds of her flesh and slipped inside. Catherine moaned into his mouth and arched against him. With infinite patience, he moved his finger in and out until her head fell back and he could feel her building passion.

“You would never have come to me, would you?” he whispered, amazed and in a strange way proud of her will. Beneath her garments, his hand stilled its movement. Catherine squirmed, silently begging for more.

“No,” she said softly.

“But you want me, don’t you?”

When Catherine didn’t answer, he kissed her, long and hard. One hand teased her nipple. “Don’t you?”

Catherine trembled. “Yes.”

Dominic released the breath he had been holding, and the last of his uncertainties fell away. He would take care of her, see she was protected.

Kissing her all the while, he stripped away her torn blouse and tossed it aside, then eased her skirt down over her hips, leaving her naked before him. Her long, flame-colored hair spilled teasingly over one shoulder while her high lush breasts with their tawny nipples, heavy at the base then curving deliciously upward, seemed to reach toward his hand. Her skin looked as pale as alabaster, her waist so narrow he could span it with his hands. Supple thighs and graceful legs tapered down to small feminine feet with delicate high arches. Catherine didn’t try to cover herself, just looked up at him as if she sought his approval.

“I knew you would be lovely,” he said, his voice husky, “but you are so much more.”

Catherine closed her eyes and let his words of praise wash over her. Desire pulsed through her veins with every breath, but until this very moment, she had remained unsure. She was tired, so very tired of pitting her mind against her body.

Now, as Dominic’s mouth covered hers and his hands skimmed over her flesh, she knew her body had won and the battle, at last, was over. She felt his touch and knew this was what she wanted—had wanted all along. His fingers moved knowingly, skillfully, with such infinite patience that in minutes she found herself caught up in the dreamlike web he spun.

His fine dark hands cupped each breast, molding it, pebbling the peak into a hard tight bud, then he stroked her thighs, his finger sinking into her as he took a nipple in his mouth, ringed it with his tongue, then began to suckle gently.

Catherine felt the heat of it, the incredible sweetness, and flames of desire shot through her body. His hands and his mouth were everywhere, his fingers probing, knowing exactly where to touch her. When he left her to strip off his breeches, the thought of stopping seemed nothing more substantial than a hazy wisp of smoke.

“Dominic,” she whispered as he settled his hard-muscled body between her legs. But no words of protest reached her lips. Instead she traced the sinews across his shoulders, and her fingers splayed on his chest, the smooth skin taut over steely bands of muscle beneath. How long had she wanted to do that? she thought vaguely. How could she have waited one more day?

Dominic kissed her again, and she felt his hardened shaft against her leg. She should have been frightened, but she was not. She was only afraid this would end. As his mouth moved over her breast, he nipped and teased until she squirmed at the exquisite sensations.

“Please,” she heard herself whisper, arching against his hand. But he paused.

“The Englishman,” he said. “Tell me you love him and this will not happen.”

She waited for the inner voice to command the lie, but it never came. She thought of the trouble her untruths had caused, the hurt this new lie would bring.

“Do you still believe you’re in love with him?” he pressed.

“No.” She felt a slight alteration of the tension in his body.

“Thank God.”

Dominic kissed her then, passionately, thoroughly, using his tongue, his hands, the weight of his body to drive her insane. She could feel the rough hair on his legs, the muscles of his chest, and the hard demanding length that sought to gain entrance. Catherine opened her legs, offering herself to him, and Dominic released a soft groan.

“Catherine,” he whispered. Nudging her legs apart even more, he settled himself between them and eased himself inside. He stopped when he reached her maidenhead, and the expression he wore was so tender it touched her heart.

“I’ll have to hurt you—just this once. I’m sorry.”

Catherine twined her arms around his neck and brought his lips down to hers for a kiss. Dominic returned it, teasing, coaxing, then plunging his tongue into her mouth at the same instant he drove himself inside her.

Catherine cried out at the searing pain, and her fingers dug into his back. His lips moved to her temple, he kissed her throat, her cheeks, her eyes as he held himself in check. When she felt his palm gently stroking her breast and realized he wasn’t going to hurt her again, Catherine began to relax. The moment she did, Dominic eased himself farther inside.

“All right?” he asked.

Catherine swallowed back her uncertainties and nodded. She felt filled with him, connected as she never would have believed.

“The worst is past,” he promised, his voice raw and husky, and began to move slowly inside her.

She could feel the tension in his body and knew the strength of will he must be using to hold himself back. Catherine relaxed even more and began to let the rhythm of his movements sweep her up. Dominic sensed her acceptance and the force of his thrusts picked up speed.

In minutes he was plunging against her, pounding hard and deep, and Catherine was arching into each powerful thrust. Her own muscles tensed as something sweet and sterling swelled inside her, something so elusive it seemed it could not be real. Instead of fighting against it, she gave herself over, clutching Dominic’s neck, wrapping her legs around him, crying out his name.

Sensing the precipice she neared, he drove deeper and harder, and Catherine soared over the edge. Bright lights lit the horizon, silver pinpricks, flashes of scarlet, and a taste so sweet she wet her lips trying to capture it before it could fade away.

It seemed the world as she had known it no longer existed, replaced by a starry landscape of sweetness and beauty, passion and serenity. As she began to spiral down, she had the feeling she had captured a tiny particle of that world and that she would never lose it.

Then she felt Dominic’s hard arms around her, pulling her against his long, hard-muscled length, and the fine sheen of perspiration that covered his body mingled with that of her own.

It was in those last precious moments of closeness that she knew. Those seconds that she held him and he held her. When the intimacy of what they had shared still clung like a fragrant perfume.

She loved him. There was no more denying it. There was no way to avoid the truth.

And though the knowledge frightened her, it also set her free. Whatever happened, whatever path in life she followed, nothing could destroy this memory she had captured of what it felt like to love.

“Are you all right?” Dominic smoothed the damp red-gold hair from her temple.

“Yes. You were wonderful.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“Only a little. I would gladly pay the price again for the pleasure—dear God, what pleasure you gave me.”

Dominic eyed her a moment, taking in the flush in her cheeks, the smile on her lips still ripe from his kisses. Drawing himself up on an elbow, he leaned over her.

“You are the most incredible woman I have ever known. I thought you would be weeping, blaming me for forcing you. I believed it would take me at least three or four more such occasions before you would admit that you enjoyed it, too.”

Catherine only smiled. “I shouldn’t have done it—there’s no denying that. But I did, and I can’t undo it, nor can I let you take the blame. No matter what happens, I shall always treasure this moment. I shall always remember it with fondness.” And love.

“Fondness?” He seemed a bit disgruntled. “Is that all you can say about what just happened?”

“What would you say?”

What would he say? What does a man say about the most poignant moment of his life? Dominic wouldn’t have believed such a thing could have happened—at least not to him. Maybe it was the way she had given herself so completely, or the way she had put her trust in him.

Not that he deserved it.

What kind of a bastard would plot for weeks to take a young woman’s virginity? Of course, at first he hadn’t known, and later … well, even now he didn’t regret it. She wasn’t in love with the Englishman, and even if she were, the man was hardly likely to welcome her home.

“I would say it was magnificent—no, better than magnificent. I would call it wondrous.”

Catherine smiled. “Yes … wondrous. That’s a far better word.” Catherine ran her finger down his chest, causing the muscles to ripple. Her own body tightened as the memory returned of what it had felt like to enter that strange sweet land Dominic had shown her.

“I was wondering if we could…?”

Dominic grinned wolfishly. “You little minx.” Rolling on top of her, he pressed her down in the soft feather mattress. He was already hot and hard. He had just been afraid she would be tender. When she discovered his throbbing arousal, her pretty green eyes went wide.

“I believe, little kitten, you have just found your answer.”

Catherine laughed softly, and Dominic covered her mouth with a kiss. Tonight they would make love—until the little vixen’s wonder came to an end. In the morning he would ease her worries about the future—he would tell her the rest of his plan.