So…here's where we start amping up the rating. If you are not of age, please stop now as I don't wish to be responsible for your sexual education. That's yo mama's job.

As for the rest of you, please read responsibly and REVIEW!

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As they made their way into the sitting room of their suite, neither was quite ready to part yet could not think of an appropriate way to say so. Rose took the initiative and, with a small smile and a quiet goodnight, slipped off to her room.

Cal retired to his own stateroom, shucked his overcoat and relievedly divested himself of his evening wear in favor of nightclothes and a warm robe. He was reluctant to admit but he was a bit chilled from their moonlit turn around Titanic's decks. Not that he would have traded that time for anything but all his extremities were numb…and he was anything but ready for sleep.

Deciding on a dose of brandy to banish the chill and possibly a few pages in his book, he stepped out to the sitting room where both were likely to be found.

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Rose swallowed hard as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was getting harder to remember that this wasn't actually her own body, her own life. The soft gaslight threw gentle shadows over her that seemed to make her hair and dress sparkle in the low light…and she wondered, not for the first time, if this moment in time was a temporary gift.

Perhaps an answer to a dying plea, a chance to know love….possibly her only chance. For all she knew, this day may be all that she was granted. One, beautiful day to experience what she never had the chance to in her own time and world. That the chance seemed to be with a man she had only known from a picture seemed odd but she could not deny the overwhelming feelings she had for him. She wondered if some of it was the original Rose's as well. She again could not understand why the Rose she had apparently switched with was so unhappy. She had everything that she herself could imagine wanting.

Not least of which was a man in another room close by whom she knew desired her very much.

Rose closed her eyes, wondering if there was anything inherently immoral about taking another woman's fiancé to her bed when she was wearing the woman's body.

She was pretty sure there were no rules for that in the books.

And she could not deny she wanted him…badly.

She didn't know whether or not he and Rose had already been intimate but could not deny to herself that she wanted the chance to be with him, at least once. But what she truly wanted was to be the one to stay, here, in this time. She hadn't been here 24hours but she knew she felt more at home here than she ever had in her own time. Whether that was due to her disposition or the man she left in the sitting room with whom she felt such connection or a combination of things, she did not know.

She looked at herself in the sumptuous evening gown in the full length cheval mirror and knew intrinsically that, whatever decisions she made from here on would fundamentally change things.

Staring at that other Rose's face in the mirror, she knew there was only one choice now she wanted to make.

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Cal stared heavily into the dark depths of the glass in his hand as he sat sprawled in the settee of the sitting room, having been utterly unable to focus on his book once he had warmed up and allowed his mind to relax.

He was in a quandary.

Rose's earlier comments were swirling in his head, most particularly the one.

Maybe I am not the Rose you know.

He was truly beginning to wonder if there were not some truth to that assertion.

Her behavior all day, ever since her fall earlier, had been completely different.

And while he had been enamored of her for awhile now, today was the first time he had truly felt as if his regard was in any way returned, felt as if he were being given a chance to truly show her himself and have her open up and let him see her as she was.

It had given him hope, hope that she might in time see him as something more than a necessary encumbrance, the husband she might need but didn't necessarily want.

And it also added a deeper layer to his regard for her. He truly liked this Rose. She was no less charming and witty and intelligent but added to that was kindness to temper the wit and humor and layers of depth that had hitherto been inaccessible…at least to him.

However, it was her performance upon the piano after dinner that had truly shaken him.

Too many times could he remember Rose demurring to perform for company due to her less than stellar skills upon the instrument. And now, tonight, she had played and sang effortlessly. Like it was no trouble at all.

He threw back the liquor in his glass and refilled it from the decanter on the nearby side table.

He was frankly terrified of the implications of ascribing any real truth to her troubling statement.

But he couldn't deny what he had experienced…and it was not the Rose he had come to know over the past few months.

And yet, he still desired her…in point of fact, desired her even more than before. This Rose was everything he had wanted to believe she was, everything he had been hoping for when he decided to offer for her. This Rose made him believe that maybe, just perhaps, they could grow to be something more than just fond of one another…and he was surprised by the deep throb of longing that thought sparked in him.

Just then, the door to her stateroom opened and he looked up to see her framed in the doorway, hair down and gloves and jewelry removed.

She smiled, shyly, "You're still up. I'm glad. I was wondering if you might assist me.."

"With what," he asked, a slight rasp to his voice.

"Trudy was sleeping so soundly…I hate to disturb her," she looked away for a moment, missing the sudden thrumming tension that shot thru him, tensing him like a bowstring and causing him to clench his hand upon his glass with white knuckled intensity.

She looked back at him, taking a visible deep breath, "I was wondering if you would mind to help me with my dress…I can't quite reach the fastening.."

He swallowed, hard, and forced himself to relax his hold on his glass.

"Of course, my dear."

He hoped his voice didn't sound as strained to her as it did to him.

He stood, placing his glass on the table and she turned, leading the way back into her room. She stopped near the dressing table and gathered her hair to one side, her eyes watching him thru the glass as he came up behind her. As he stepped close and reached for the back of her dress, she dropped her eyes and closed them.

He leaned in close, feeling the heat of her as the sweet scent of her lilac perfume wafted around him in heady swirls.

He suddenly felt drunk, and knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol he'd been consuming earlier.

He took his time, as much to hide the slight shaking of his hands as to savor the moment. Finally though, he reached the end and told her, the husky tenor of his voice evidence of his current feeling.

She held the gown up by the front as she looked up at him in the mirror, eyes wide and dark and luminous in the soft light.

"You..you'll have to do the corset as well," she said, her own voice choked and slightly breathless.

Dear God, she was killing him.

He wondered if she had any idea what she was asking, what she was doing, how she affected him standing there like that, her state of dishabille a wanton siren song that he desperately wanted to answer.

Silently, he began to undo the laces of her corset, the only sound in the room the gentle soughing of their breathing.

As he finished, he could not stop himself from reaching up, clasping her lovely, pale shoulders and slowly gliding the fingers of his right hand up then down the back of her neck and across the gentle slope of her back. She shuddered, eyes closing as she tipped her head to the side, both a silent plea and an offering. Her hands dropped to her sides and the precariously situated gown fell to pool lavishly at her feet. Her corset fell downward as well, leaving her covered only in the sheer material of her chemise.

Cal inhaled sharply as he was impaled with a stab of lust so sharp it nearly doubled him over.

He shut his eyes, feeling the fine tremor within him as she leaned back into him. His hand was still on her shoulder and he felt her move, reaching up to grasp his hand with her own. He opened his eyes and nearly moaned aloud when she met them in the mirror and brought his hand to her mouth, pressing her lips to the sensitized flesh of his palm. She held his hand there and turned her face, nuzzling his hand like a kitten and he felt his knees weaken as his breath began to rasp heavily in his chest.

God, he wanted her!

He dropped his other hand, splaying it across her stomach, pressing her back into him, forcing her to acknowledge the proof of what she was doing to him. She shuddered again, hard, and simply melted into him, her hand that had done such wanton things to his own letting go and rising up to wrap itself around his neck, her fingers tunneling themselves into his hair. The image she presented in the mirror, arched back with her lovely breasts pressed forward, nipples large and dusky beneath their drape of fine linen, was his undoing.

He turned her swiftly, covering her mouth with his own with a desperate hunger. Her arms snaked around his shoulders and neck, as she grasped his hair, tugging him closer and opening herself to his kiss, returning his ardor with her own ferociously, moaning into his mouth and making him drunker still with the power of his own desire.

He pulled her closer, hands roaming now of their own volition over the planes of her body. He broke away, breathing deeply and pressing, frantic, hungry kisses down the line of her neck and across her chest as she tried to meld herself to his body, a litany of affirmation falling from her lips.

He grasped her head with one hand, staring at her with his hot, heavy gaze as she opened her eyes, her own gaze heavy-lidded and glazed with desire.

"Tell me you want this Rose," he swallowed hard, "I need to hear you say it."

She gazed back at him, her own hand drifting upward to delicately cup his cheek, "Yes…Cal. I want this…I want you."

He closed his eyes, a sharp huff of triumphant laughter escaping him as he clasped her head in both hands, his forehead falling to rest gently against her own.

They stood, pressed together for an eternal moment before he bent down and swept her up and turned determinedly toward the large bed.