She could only hope that Royce would want to do the same things to her again, and soon, so she could feel the soaring, bursting emotion that twice now had left her shattered, yet completed. His head was on her shoulder, his face nestled in the curve of her throat, and his breathing was slowly returning to normal. She liked the warmth of his breath on her skin and the weight of him pressing her down. Heaven help her, she liked the sensation of Royce surrounding her, of him plunging deep inside her, possessing her, making her his. It was the most dangerous sensation she had ever experienced. She could not allow herself to care for him. If she was going to save herself, she needed to be on guard against him. But how could she remain on guard when she longed to open herself to him, to accept him and be completely honest with him? That way, she knew, lay certain imprisonment and probable death. Worse; if Royce knew everything about her, he’d never want to take her in his arms again. The only way she could think of to avoid the humiliation of his rejection was by allowing him to think she didn’t care at all, that his display of masculine passion had left her unmoved, unaffected, indifferent to him.
