"Oh, God." She was in her bed in the housekeeper's room. She had given in to her baser urges. She had slept with Taran. Repeatedly. And he had pleasured her until she was wild and irresponsible again. Irresponsible … she looked at the bright daylight and sat straight up. "Oh, God. I'm late!" "You're the housekeeper," Taran drawled. "You can be late if you like." She looked toward the window. Taran stood there. She was reclining. He was dressed in fresh clothing, his hair brushed, his face washed. She was nude and disheveled. He was a shadowed silhouette against the morning light. She was revealed by the sun. They had made love for hours on end, and she had told him … she had confessed her love. He had not made similar assurances. Why would he? He had what he wanted without resorting to a lie.
