He was still amazed by the way in which the oil had affected Matilda, the way her reserve had melted away. He was just as amazed by the way he himself had almost lost control. From the moment he'd touched the oil to her skin, he'd been half-crazy with wanting her. He did intend to have Matilda, but he had to be careful not to give too much of himself to her. In a contrary sort of way, he was glad she'd called a halt to their heated response to the last aphrodisiac she'd concocted. When he made love to Matilda, he would be in control. There would be nothing hazy or unclear; he wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every new sensation. And he would be sure that she truly wanted him and was not lost in the clutches of some artificial essence or potion. Funny, but he had no such reservations about Vanessa. He would do whatever he had to in order to make her his wife. He didn't care why she agreed to the match, only that he got what he wanted. "Declan," Vanessa said sweetly as she came floating into the parlor.
