Just as she exited the ballroom to be greeted by the sweet scent of roses on the veranda, she felt his powerful hand take hold of her elbow and realized how foolish she had been to try to escape him. She turned to him immediately, being far too wise to go on pretending that she was surprised at his sudden appearance. Eyes cast downward at first, she was startled and gasped as her eyes met his, to find his gaze that of burning emotion. His jaw was tightly clenched. It was obvious by the firm set of it. His chest rose and fell with a density of breathing that was beyond standard.  

“Mason, I…” she began to apologize in a whisper. Yet her words would not flow, for she knew not what she had done to vex him so.  

He said not a word in response, simply looked about quickly as if searching for something. Then, sliding one strong arm around her waist, he led her to the far end of the veranda. So determined was he and so long his stride that Cassidy stumbled twice in trying to match his speed. Once they reached the far end of the veranda, Mason turned the latch of a small door leading from it. Commandingly he pushed Cassidy ahead of him through the door and she found herself in a dimly lit study.  

She could only stand in intense, ignorant apprehension as she watched him latch and lock the door through which they had entered. Then he strode across the room and bolted the other door, which no doubt led to the rest of the house. Without a single word to her still, his eyes surveyed the room quickly, settling upon a nearby footstool. Shoving it across the room with his boot, he positioned it next to one wall. Then his attention again fell to Cassidy. His eyes burned with…something, and Cassidy felt her hand involuntarily go to her throat in a protective manner.  

Mason reached out and took hold of her arms, pulling her toward the footstool, finally putting his large, capable hands at her waist and lifting her effortlessly to position her back against the wall to stand rather precariously upon it. Again Cassidy felt her own hand go to her throat as Mason stood before her, his eyes now nearly level with her own. She startled when suddenly his fists hit the wall against which she leaned, one great hand on either side of her head.

 Then, as if struggling with some inner conflict, he hung his head before her for a moment and she begged, “Mason. One word, please. I beg you.”

 “No!”

Cassidy could no longer restrain the moisture in her eyes that threatened to expose her anxiety. Closing her eyes tightly, she allowed several tears to trickle uninhibited down her cheeks. She opened her eyes quickly, however, when she felt Mason’s surprisingly gentle touch at her throat. He took her hand, which still clasped her throat protectively and placed it against the wall and at her side. Then his own hand covered the area where once hers had been. He caressed her throat tenderly, causing no discomfort in his manner of touching her. As his hand lingered there, he allowed his thumb to stroke the delicate curve of her jaw, finally pushing at it coaxingly so she followed his wordless direction and turned her head to one side.

She was beginning to understand that the intense emotion emanating from him was indeed anger. But anger bred from frustration born within his own soul, not at something she had done. When she felt his breath on the bareness of her shoulder, moving slowly across her neck and upward to her ear, she was further assured that she had misread his intention. His hand cupped her chin tightly and he turned her face to his own once more.

At last he spoke, his voice deep and impassioned in its quiet booming, “You are real then?” he asked.

She knew not how to answer such a question. She was uncertain of his meaning.

Her silence urged him further. “Real? Not some imagined fairy that my tormented mind has concocted to ease the suffering at my loss? A mere vision that will vanish at my touch?”

“By no means,” she stammered in a whisper, suddenly delirious at the thought of his touch, his arms about her, his longed-for kiss. It seemed an eternity since he had spoken to her in such an intimate tone; since his hands had conveyed the promise of a passionate exchange.

His kiss was sudden, hard to nearly uncomfortable, and insistent. There were no soft kisses on her neck, no teasing, tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, no taunting breath on her cheek. Fully ripened passion exploded from him instantly. His hand released her chin at once upon his lips capturing hers, and she sensed his tightly clenched fists against the wall on either side of her again. Breaking the kiss and closing his eyes to frown deeply, he shook his head, again battling with his own resolves. Pounding one fist on the wall at the side of her head and still shaking his head in resistance and desire, his arms worked to push his body away from her for a moment, going slack the next and allowing him to caress her cheek with his own over and over again.

Cassidy’s tears flowed with compassion for the man who fought such a battle of torment with his mind against his desire. What uniquely good man was this before her that battled so, mind and body? Her primping, her profound attention to her appearance had done more than she had wished. It was obvious she had captured the attention of the great, brooding man. Captured his attention, yet sent his mind into confusion. Guilt settled into the pit of her stomach as his cheek lingered against her own a moment longer than it had before. What cruelty had she inflicted upon him…causing him to find himself raging with desire for a woman he loved not? And still, the small grain of corruption within her delighted that she could capture his attention so.

Putting her hands to his shoulders, she endeavored to push him away, to release him from the spell she had managed to work about him. But her gesture only served to further agitate him and at once, her face was held firmly between his two hands.

“You bewitch me!” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Forgive me,” Cassidy whispered.

“Never,” he grumbled a moment before his kiss was fierce and thorough on her mouth once more.

His hand was at the back of her neck, holding her head in position for his own reasons. His other slid around her waist, pulling her flush with his powerful body. Cassidy felt her own hands leave his broad shoulders and find their way to the back of his neck, her fingers unable to deny themselves the pleasure of being lost in the softness of his hair.

After long moments, his mouth broke from hers, finding the fragrant flesh of her neck upon which to rain softer, less driven kisses. Cassidy’s arms encircled his neck, pulling her body closer to his, allowing her own face to brush tenderly against his hair. She wanted to whisper her love for him, to confess her impious attentions to her own appearance so she might capture his notice, but she dared not. Then his kiss was hers once more, a less brutal passion emanating from it this time. His embrace of her slackened, his hands resting at her waist, yet still holding her possessively somehow.

Such kissing Cassidy had never fathomed before having been given to Mason Carlisle. How this man could own her so completely tortured her mind. How his smile, his very face, his delicious kiss could fill her every thought was evidence of her heart’s being slave to him. She thought as she felt the cool of the gold bracelet brush her neck that it should be she who wore it... for it was she who was enslaved to him. Again his kiss traveled to her neck, and she thrilled as she felt him nip her playfully before he broke from her suddenly and completely.

“It must needs be that I take my leave now, lest I sacrifice all that you and I are in moral character,” he told her plainly. Cassidy’s knees weakened at the lingering sensations of his embrace and kiss and she leaned back against the wall for support. “Remain here for a time. Were anyone to see you now, my true nature would be revealed to all, for you are yet flushed and ruffled.”

“He strode from her toward the door leading to the veranda, yet paused before unlatching it to take his leave. Turning to look at her once more he said, “Two things.” His hesitation in saying anything further gave her cause to believe he had changed his mind about expressing what was in his mind, but then he continued, “First, I cannot endure seeing you in the arms of another man any longer this evening. You will please keep yourself to me alone for the rest of it.” He somewhat glared at her obviously waiting for an argumentative response. She could only swallow hard and nod in agreement. “Second, I know what is in your mind… that little self-persecuting thinking of yours. Let me assure you, Miss Shea… ‘twould not have mattered were you just fished from a pond looking like a drowned kitten in place of wearing that accursed red gown and looking as you do. My reaction to you this night would have been no less explosive.” With that he turned from her and exited through the veranda door.

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