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blissful pleasure of her life?
    Simply looking at him gave her pleasure. He lay on his side facing her, the covers drawn up to his waist, exposing his bare torso. He was dark and sinfully handsome, with his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw-line. His magnificent face, she now knew, was matched by a magnificent body. Strong, graceful, long-limbed. She was frankly awed by the heat and steel beneath his smooth flesh.
    Not all his flesh was smooth, however. The sight of his scars in the growing light of day made her ache with sorrow. It appalled her that such a beautiful work of art should be so disfigured.
    His back had suffered the worst damage. His shoulders in particular were covered with puckered burn weals that were thick and hard. Oddly enough, he had other scars, too, perhaps the results of his dangerous profession. One was rounded, as if made by a bullet. Two more were long slashes, possibly from a knife or sword blade. But those were insignificant compared to the burns.
    She could only imagine the physical pain he’d suffered from the castle fire, even discounting his emotional pain. The thought brought tears to Skye’s eyes. Foolishly, she wanted to press her lips against his ravaged skin and take away the hurt.
    She would have to hide her sadness and sorrowfrom Lord Hawkhurst, though, for he wouldn’t want her pity. He wasn’t the sort of man who invited pity. Even in sleep, he was arresting, powerful.
    She hadn’t meant to go so far as to lose her virginity to him last night, however. She’d flung herself against him, true, clinging so tightly she’d nearly choked him, but her motives had been entirely innocent at first. And then his consoling warmth had seeped into her bones, driving away the chilling fear of her nightmare. She could feel her trembling subside as he expertly molded his lips to fit hers. With his masterful arms holding her and his tender kisses kindling her senses, he’d inflamed her to aching arousal.…
    Apparently she had done the same to him, Skye reflected, her gaze lingering on his bare, smoothly muscled chest. It was no wonder that Hawkhurst had reacted as he had, considering the brazen way she had explored and fondled him. Yet there had been an intensity in his embrace, almost a desperation, as if he needed her more than his next breath.
    The same need had filled her. A hunger so strong that she felt dazed. She had longed to be part of him.
    She couldn’t regret becoming a woman in his arms. In truth, she was amazed by how right their joining had felt—as if she’d never lived until he’d touched her, kissed her, melded with her.
    She couldn’t help wondering if their consummation was a sign that they were meant to be together. She could picture this man as her husband, and waking next to him each morning. Indeed, the past night could have been their wedding night, Skye thought dreamily. But regardless of whether Lord Hawkhurst was herlife’s mate, she would never be able to look at him again without remembering the feel of him moving inside her.
    Fresh pleasure flooded her as she remembered his hardness inside her, his urgent thrusts as he took her.
    The quivery feelings in her midsection persisted as Hawkhurst finally stirred awake. When he first spied her, a faint smile of greeting touched his mouth, while his gray eyes held unmistakable warmth. He reached out to touch her bare toes that were peeking from beneath the hem of her nightdress—to see if she was real, she supposed.
    At the intimate contact, Skye felt her stomach turn fluttery again, but then a frown claimed his mouth.
    Raising his head, Hawkhurst glanced around the bedchamber before returning his gaze to her. He must have recalled where he was and whom he was with, for those fathomless gray eyes leveled on her with an intensity that unsettled her.
    Skye felt a flush stain her cheeks. She could no longer ignore the fact that she was still dressed in her nightclothes, alone with a naked man in her bed. A splendidly