Author's Notes

Hi all!

I was thrilled to receive such a warm response to the last chapter. It was so nice to hear that you guys are still following the story. To the members, A Reader and Guests—thank you very much for taking the time to let me know what you thought of the chapter and which parts you particularly liked. :) It's very much appreciated.

Now, we've had some loose ends for a while now that will finally be tied up in this next chapter. I hope it isn't too heavy and lengthy and I'll fit some more action in soon . . . but yes—Adam/Madeline scene coming right up!

Chapter 39

With Ben's words still ringing in her ears, Madeline stood in the hallway, her fingers fretting at the front of her skirt. All doors on both sides of her were closed, except for one. The one furthest down the hall, at the end. The door to Adam's bedroom. Despite Ben's encouragement, she couldn't shake her apprehension. Would Adam really want her company now? When he took to his room it was usually a sign he wished to be alone, she'd learned. Was she doing the right thing by approaching him anyway? It was so hard to know how to handle him these days. Much of the time, she felt as though she were walking on delicate ice with him. The last thing she wanted to do was to misstep and cause the fragile ground to break under him. Under them. Oh, but she ached to go to him . . .

Suddenly her feet were moving, taking her down the hall. Like she was being drawn there by some greater power. As she got closer, she saw the door wasn't left ajar as she'd anticipated, but it stood wide open. Reaching the doorway, she stopped.

And there he was. Dressed in his customary black clothes, he was sitting at a writing desk across the room. He sat forward on the edge of the chair with his elbows resting on the desk top—shirtsleeves rolled down, arms upraised, and his hands folded by his mouth. That particular sitting pose had the effect that his shirt clung to him like a second skin, outlining the strong curves of his shoulders and his magnificently sculpted back. From where she stood, she had an entrancing view of his profile. A lock of black, mussed hair fell across his forehead where his eyebrows dipped low and she sensed a tension along the hard line of his jaw, shadowed by a few days' worth of dark stubble. His eyes were somber, cast down at a sheet of paper on the desk.

Madeline drank in the sight of him as a riot of emotions welled up in her. This was the look she had come to know so well. From the moment she'd met him, she'd been sensitive to his brooding moods. She'd sensed early on that a dark side existed within him and she'd learned of the scars he carried as a personal burden—both the physical and the mental ones. There were things he simply didn't talk about, subjects he avoided. She had accepted that about him and still, she'd fallen in love with him. But the reality was that he'd gone from bad to worse. Although he tried to hide it—and oh, he tried—she saw more of him than he realized. She knew he was still struggling after everything that had happened these last few weeks. He was healing physically, but the rest of him didn't seem to be getting better. And that worried her. Lately, his moods varied rapidly, and his temper was often short. One minute he would be joking with his brothers, and the next he withdrew and shut himself off from everyone. A couple of times a day he would go out to the barn, using Sport as an excuse to be alone with the things that troubled him—with the thoughts he either couldn't or didn't want to share. And every time he came back to her, she was ready with soft looks and soft touches, never pressing him, demanding nothing of him.

Like she'd told Ben, she knew he didn't mean to be this way. Adam didn't mean to be . . . difficult, as Ben had so aptly put it. But his behavior was starting to take its toll on her too. Because she wanted so desperately to help him. She loved him so much that his pain was now her pain. She wanted to care for him in the ways she believed he needed most. But how could she do that when he wouldn't let her? How could she reach him when the stubborn man didn't talk to her?

Watching him now, it was clear to her that he was having a bad morning. She should probably leave him to have his quiet time, let him deal with himself in whatever way he needed to, so he could get ready to face the day. But then, as she considered doing that, he moved at the desk. He took a long, deep breath—a breath that shook his shoulders as his head dropped lower. He unclasped his hands and rubbed his temples, then slowly ran his fingers up through his hair until his hands locked tightly behind his neck. And that was all it took. As if a dam had burst, emotion flooded her. It filled her chest, her heart, until the pressure became so great she almost couldn't bear it.

How could she walk away when he was like this? No, she just couldn't. Overflowing within her now was an intense need to be with him. And that need, overrode all other considerations.

Her brow was creased with worry as she knocked lightly on the door frame next to her.

"Good morning . . ."

Adam quickly straightened and turned in her direction. A weak, forced-looking smile flitted across his face.

"Good morning."

He stood from the chair, fumbled with, then folded the paper he'd been studying.

"Come on in."

Madeline took a small step into the room. "I hope I'm not interrupting . . ."

"No, it's fine." He motioned to his bed. "Sit down."

Cautiously, she walked in and glanced around herself, realizing she'd never actually seen his bedroom before. There were books, maps and drawings everywhere, but it was still neat and orderly. Very Adam. She stopped by the bed, covered with a dark blue quilt. His bed. Even standing, she caught the enticing scent of him in the covers and a strong urge to breathe it in suddenly hit. She mentally shook herself. Now certainly wasn't the time for such thoughts. Taking a seat where he'd indicated, Madeline folded her hands in her lap and waited. Her frown reemerged when she noticed he was taking his time fidgeting by the desk. She could guess why. When Adam turned, that carefully composed mask had slid back into place. He came over and sat down next to her, angling himself towards her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, drawing one bent leg up under himself.

"Yes, very well, thank you. And you?"

"Yea, pretty good."

Madeline doubted that. He still looked tired, like he did most mornings. Not exhausted as he'd appeared a week ago, but far from rested. She swept a slow, assessing look over his face and in the silence, she realized he was considering her too. The open admiration in his gaze brought a blush to her cheeks.

"You look lovely today."

He flashed her that lopsided smile of his, sneaking his hand over to take hers.

"Thank you," she said with a timid smile in return, but continued to scrutinize him. She wasn't about to let him divert her attention with his charming ways.

Drawing a swift breath, she asked, "Are you alright?"

His gaze flickered like a flame but stayed on her. "Yes. I'm fine."

"You seemed . . . troubled when I first came in . . ."

She regarded him with a gentle look in her eyes. He turned away from her.

"I was just reading through something. But it's not important now."

"Oh. Are you sure that—"

"I said it's nothing, Madeline."

He started to withdraw his hand, but on impulse she caught it between both of hers and held on.

"You cannot keep doing this. I'm worried about you . . ."

The words flew out of her mouth unchecked like they'd come directly from her heart. She searched the features she knew so well, looking for any sign that he would lower his guard and let her in. A fragile hope blossomed inside her at the fact that he hadn't yet pulled his hand free. Certainly, he could easily break her hold. Or could he . . .?

Her body tensed in anticipation when he sighed. "I don't want you to be worried."

She nodded and responded quite simply, "Then you must talk to me now."

Working his jaw back and forth, Adam seemed to need a minute to process those conditions.

"I was reading a letter from Jim," he eventually said, his impassive countenance giving nothing away. "Roy brought it along when he stopped by last week, I've read it a bunch of times already. It's mostly about Henry, you know, about what he . . . what happened to him."

A sharp pang shot through her. "I'm so sorry . . ."

"It's all right." He shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "Like I said, it's not—"

"Adam . . ."

He stopped. Sat stiffly. Staring down at the floor. She trailed her fingers over the dark hairs lightly brushing the back of his hand.

"Please . . . don't shut me out," she said, her voice catching.

Warily, Adam faced her. Their eyes only met briefly before he lowered his. Madeline watched an all too familiar struggle play out on his face and almost felt bad for it, for pushing him this way. But somehow, she knew this was the right thing. The voice of intuition within her—the one she relied so heavily on when it came to him—was telling her now that this was right. Adam might not want to talk, but what he wanted and what he needed were two different things. It was up to her to show him that. When he finally did speak, he made sure to keep his gaze below her own and his voice was tightly controlled.

"After the war ended, I knew Henry was in a dark place. But a lot of men were depressed in spirit, and I didn't realize how bad he was. Jim and I both assumed he was worn out like everyone else, we thought he'd get better again with time. He was always a hard one to figure." His lips twitched just slightly. "And hard to please. For four years he complained about me telling him what to do all the time and the minute I resigned my commission he started complaining about me leaving and not being there to order him around anymore . . ."

Adam's eyes took on a distant sheen and his mouth flattened to a stiff line. Madeline waited patiently, letting him speak in his own time.

"He was different in his letters. I noticed, but I didn't get it. He seemed confused, lost." A shadow crossed his face as he went on. "That's why I invited him here. I thought I could help him by keeping him occupied until his furlough ended. It was always the plan he would come out and visit anyway at some point. He wanted to see the Ponderosa, the lakes, the mountains—all the spectacular sights I'd told him so much about over the years. I was gonna teach him a thing or two about ranch work. For the life of him, the guy couldn't sit a horse . . ."

It was the first time his voice wavered, and Madeline's chest twisted and tightened in response. Roughly, Adam cleared his throat.

"It almost worked, I guess. Jim wrote he'd seemed happy about the invitation—it was all he talked about for a couple of days at least. But in the end, it just wasn't enough."

He went quiet and stared off at some point far beyond the room, his expression showing nothing of his thoughts. Even so, understanding swept through her as she regarded him, a deep tenderness filling her heart. He was such a good man, so honorable, so caring of others. So terribly hard on himself.

"There was nothing more you could have done to help him from here, Adam . . ."

The muscles in his back tensed. He sat very still. His guarded demeanor told her he wasn't ready to hear those reassuring words, nor would he accept them. She wasn't sure he ever would.

"Some people would condemn him for his actions," he suddenly said, his face growing dark. "After everything we . . . he survived four years of war only to die by his own hand. Some would consider it a shameful act. They'd forget his bravery on the battlefield and remember him as a man who despaired."

His voice was hard-edged now; sharpened with tension, with a cutting note of challenge. Intended to sting. But Madeline didn't shy away from him. She met his tone with her usual soft and calm cadence, her kind eyes never leaving him.

"I think it's very wrong to pass judgement on someone without having any knowledge or true understanding of the personal suffering, the terrible pain and tragedy they might have been forced to endure. There is no shame in despairing . . ."

The furrows across his brow deepened, a muscle ticking away in his jaw. Instinctively, Madeline began stroking his hand—lightly and gently—from his fingers along his palm and down to the underbelly of his wrist. Fully aware that he was too lost in his inner darkness to respond to the touch. If she didn't know this man so well, she might have been frightened by him. By his unapproachable manner when he got this way, by his severity and the frigid, harsh air that seemed to envelope him. But Madeline understood him, and she felt for him with all her heart as he wrestled with the pain, the grief and the unresolved feelings that still lay brutally suppressed within him. After some time, the tension uncoiled and eased out of his shoulders in slow degrees. When his posture slumped, she knew the internal storm that had arisen in him, had come to rest again. For now.

"Did Henry have any family?" she asked quietly, still caressing his hand.

Adam glanced her way. "His mother and father died when he was very young, it's just his grandparents left now. Jim went to tell them in person."

"Oh no . . ." Pinching her eyes shut, she said a silent prayer for those poor people. "It must have been so awful for them."

"Yes . . . I thought about writing them. I met them when we arrived in Washington for the celebration back in May."

She tipped her head at a questioning angle. "And what is stopping you from writing to them?"

"I'm not so sure they'd want to hear from me."

"Why not?" she probed. "I certainly think they would want to hear from you. You were a dear friend of their grandson."

He finally turned, and very tentatively, looked at her. His eyes, so rich in color, so deep with emotion, held an unexpected vulnerability that made her breath catch in her throat. "I wouldn't know what to say . . ."

Madeline swallowed hard.

Then, she lifted a hand to his cheek, smiling, although her lip quivered dangerously. "Anything. Tell them your fondest memory of him. Tell them what his friendship has meant to you. You could write a bit about the high Sierras and lake Tahoe—the places Henry loved to hear you talk of. I think it would mean a lot to them to hear about something that was special to their grandson, something that brought him joy and comfort in his dark times."

Adam leaned heavily into her palm. "You really think that . . ."

"Yes, I do . . ."

His chest heaved with a sigh. "I don't know. Maybe . . ."

She wouldn't press him on it, not now. But she hoped he would decide to write that letter. It might be his only way of finding some measure of peace with this terrible tragedy. He closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed along his temple and she could feel he was done talking. His weariness showed her how much it took out of him, revealing himself to her. But it was a start. She couldn't risk pushing him too much. Now, it was time to leave this painful subject and hopefully, lighten his mood. Make him smile again.

She suddenly felt very grateful for Ben's subtle urging earlier. If not for him, she would have missed this chance to reach out to Adam and offer him the comfort she knew he very much needed. It occurred to her that Ben must have realized the same thing.

"You know something?" she said, her voice muted, drifting through the silence. "Your father is a very wise man . . ."

Adam opened one eye to peer at her. "Is he really . . ."

His tone was tired and showed no surprise at the sudden addition of his father to the conversation.

"Mhmm."

She smiled at the tiny, upturned twist of his mouth when he closed his eye again. As often before, she marveled at how he calmed and relaxed under her touch as she stroked his handsome face. This was all she really wanted, to make him feel better. To soothe him. And she had one other thing in mind, an idea she hoped would lift his spirits.

"I have been wondering . . ." She ran her fingers tenderly over his sideburn, into his dark hair. "Have you considered inviting Jim here for a visit? I thought it might give you both something to look forward to." A genuine smile shaped her mouth. "I would like to meet him too."

She quickly recognized the change in Adam's demeanor. He stiffened slightly. Then he opened his eyes and pulled away from her.

"There's no point in me doing that."

Madeline sat as though she had been frozen in place. Confused by his reaction, she slowly lowered her hand as he took up fiddling with the bandage around his left arm.

"It was only a suggestion," she said cautiously. "It wasn't my intention to—"

"There's no point," Adam cut in, "because he's already on his way here."

Her lips parted in mute surprise. "Jim is coming here? But, that's wonderful!"

The stunned smile never managed to settle on her face before it stiffened and died away. There was something off, a wariness to Adam's appearance that was all wrong. Abruptly, he stood from the bed as if he couldn't sit still for another second. He began pacing restlessly, back and forth in front of her. Feeling even more bewildered, she followed him with her eyes. Eventually she spoke up, careful to keep her tone mild.

"You don't seem very happy about him visiting . . ."

"He isn't exactly coming just to see me," Adam said, somewhat curtly.

"He isn't?" Madeline frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is—" He stopped pacing and dragged a hand down his face, the rough rasp of his whiskers sounding very loud in the quiet room. "It's not just Jim coming here, Madeline. My whole company will be here in a month or so." Correcting himself, he added a dark mutter, "Well, they're not my company anymore."

Her stomach dropped. His company? They were coming out here? But why? The questions ran rampant in her head, leaving her mind in disarray.

"I . . . don't understand . . ."

She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so fragile all of a sudden. It just came out that way—small and wobbly. Adam faced her in a heartbeat. The tautness drained from his face, replaced by a soft expression that made her feel even more vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know why I'm . . . I don't mean to act this way."

Exhaling in a rush, he tilted his chin up to the ceiling as if expecting to find answers to his behavior up there. Madeline shuffled on the bed, uncomfortable. After a considerable silence, he appeared to come to a decision and strode back to the bed. He sat down next to her and picked up both her hands.

"Before the war, the army had troops stationed all across the frontier. When the fighting began, the regulars were ordered East and volunteer infantry and cavalry units were organized here to replace them. Now that it's over, thousands of soldiers have either been mustered out or been reassigned to other posts," he explained, rubbing her hands with his thumbs. "As you know, many have remained in the South to help rebuild the Southern states, but a lot of regulars are being sent West to take over for the volunteer regiments. The way things are out here, many feel that it's necessary to strengthen the military presence on the frontier."

Madeline swallowed in an attempt to force her mounting unease back down. "You mean because of the conflicts between settlers and the Indian tribes?"

He gave a slight nod. "For the last four years, most of the country has been focusing its attention on the East while a lot has been changing in the West. With white civilization constantly pushing in on tribal lands, the conflicts between us and the Native tribes aren't likely to get better."

A chill of premonition slithered down her spine. "So more soldiers are coming out here . . . to fight against the Indians?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not just to fight them," he said. "They'll be taking on a string of duties such as guarding wagon trains and overland routes, preventing wars between tribes, protecting Indian reservations from encroachment of settlers . . ."

"But . . . but there will be fighting?" she pressed, feeling out of her depth in this conversation. Surely more soldiers meant more fighting? More war?

Adam regarded her intently for a long instant. "Some Indians have taken hostile stances and might refuse to negotiate peace. If they present a threat and don't surrender . . . then soldiers will confront them, yes."

Madeline's mouth went dry. The truth was there, she saw it in his gaze. His eyes carried over a harsh, uncompromising certainty about what was to come.

"It's happening everywhere out here Madeline, you know that." His attitude mellowed as he began stroking her hands again. "In the Southwest with the Apache . . . in the Powder River Country with the Lakota. Here in Nevada, our problems are mostly with the Snakes."

"The Snakes . . ." she repeated, struggling to navigate her disordered mind. "Is that—"

"It's a term for the Indian bands living around Snake River; the Shoshone, Northern Paiute, the Bannock."

"Yes, that's right . . ."

Before she came to the West, Madeline had never even seen an Indian before. So far, the encounters she'd had with local Natives in Virginia City had sparked feelings of wonder and intrigue in her, not fear. She was sure the people she'd met presented no danger.

"More Indian families have been coming to live around the outskirts of Virginia City . . ." She pasted on a smile in the hope it would cover her unease and add a light tone to her voice. "They certainly mean no harm, they have been so friendly, Adam. Uncle Paul has even provided some women and children with medical attention . . ."

"And they're exactly the people who might need protecting from hostile tribes and from harassment of settlers." He locked his eyes to hers. "The army is supposed to represent the power of established order, something that's missing out here. At least, that's the hope."

Madeline nodded slowly as everything he'd told her began to settle in. Adam definitely had a way of explaining something quite unnerving in a calm, methodical manner. She blinked, trying to clear her head enough to focus on just one thought.

"And you are saying that your men . . . are among those soldiers being sent here?"

"Yes. Jim confirmed they're on their way."

"I see . . ." She let that sink in. "And how . . . when did you—"

"I've known they were coming for some time now. Since late July."

At his words, her heart gave a sharp wrench, wiping her mind free of everything else.

"Oh . . ."

The sting in her chest was ruthlessly unexpected and she bowed her head, feigning intense interest in a ribbon on her skirt.

"Madeline?"

She couldn't even look at him, let alone speak. Perhaps it was silly of her, but she felt just a little bit . . . hurt that he hadn't mentioned this to her before. It must be important to him and yet he hadn't wanted to share it with her.

"Honey . . ." He gave her hands a squeeze. "I know I probably should've told you. I just wasn't sure how you'd feel about it . . . my old company coming here."

Her eyelashes flickered rapidly, like the wings of an injured bird. She eased her hands free of his and laced her fingers together in her lap, smoothing her features into what she hoped resembled a collected expression. Then, she faced him.

"How do you mean?"

"Well . . ."

Adam didn't seem to know how to occupy his hands now. One shot through his hair.

"It's kind of a side to me that I don't . . ." He paused uncertainly. "You've seen me handle guns and that, but this is a part of my life that you haven't . . . well, you know what I mean," he finished with a vague hand gesture.

As if that explained everything perfectly.

"No, I'm afraid I don't," she replied softly, letting him hear her regret.

In response, he rubbed a hand over his mouth. And tipped his head up to consult the ceiling once more.

Madeline watched him anxiously, waiting for an explanation that didn't seem to be coming.

"Adam . . .?" she ventured.

Several seconds passed and she began to wonder if he would react at all.

"I just assumed it would bother you," he finally blurted, turning to her.

". . . Bother me?"

"Yea." He peered up at her from under his brow. "Doesn't it . . .?"

Bother her? The only thing that slightly bothered her right now was this strange idea he seemed to have that he should think for everyone else and guess how they might feel about something without consulting them. As much as she loved him, he evoked great displeasure in her at times. She remained quite still, struggling to speak around the tightness of her throat.

"Why would you think I'd be bothered by this? They are your friends . . ."

A frown fell over his face. "I know it's going to bother my family so—

"How do you know this? Have you discussed it with them?"

Obviously flustered by her interruption, he stared at her, his mouth hanging open a moment.

"Not exactly. I mean, my father knows but we haven't really . . ." He scratched his neck. "Hoss and Joe don't, and I just couldn't . . . it's difficult . . . difficult to—" Suddenly, he shook his head fiercely. "Look, it doesn't matter, okay? Just forget about it."

Twisting around, he shifted on the bed—repositioning himself firmly a few inches away from her. Physically withdrawing from the conversation. The silence seemed to vibrate with tension as she eyed his profile fixedly.

Forget about it? Certainly not.

"No, Adam," she said calmly. "I really think we should—"

"Well I don't. We're not having this conversation."

She was surprised and distressed by his brusqueness. "But you are clearly very upset by this . . ."

"I'm not upset." His jaw tightened. "I just don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Please, I'm only asking why you thought—"

"I don't know what I thought Madeline!" he bit out. He jerked his hands up and forced them so harshly against his temples, she flinched. "Everything is just too . . . I don't even know what I'm thinking . . ."

One second, she was completely stunned. The next, Madeline melted inside. In an instant, her own hurt was set aside as her compassion took over. She saw very clearly his confusion, his insecurity and his pain—how all of it was being kept at bay, just barely, by his bluster and frustration. And for the first time she truly realized how powerless Adam was in all this. How lost he was when it came to his emotions. He didn't know how to handle them, and he knew even less of how to put words to them. Right now, he was so overwhelmed by everything he carried around on the inside, he was reacting outwardly in the only way he knew how—with gruffness, and by drawing away. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she looked on, helpless, watching his struggle. She knew that one day, this protective shell he'd created around himself would break. It was so filled with cracks already, it simply had to. And when that time came, she would be ready for him, ready to take whatever terrible things might pour out. But that time was not now, however much she wanted it to be. She sensed that he couldn't let that happen yet. She needed to help him some other way. And the first step was to deal with one issue at a time.

Armed with yet a deeper level of understanding of him, Madeline composed herself. She fixed a gentle but unwavering gaze on him and spoke in a voice smoothed with kindness.

"You are glad the company is coming here . . . aren't you?"

Adam kept his hands up, shielding his face from her view. "It's complicated."

Was it? It seemed simple enough to her. Yet again, her patience prevailed.

"Does it not make you feel happy that you'll have the chance to see them again soon?" she tried.

With great effort, it seemed, he lowered his hands.

"Yes . . ."

He drew the answer out in an odd way—like a child admitting to some wrong-doing.

Madeline smiled faintly. "Then why would I not share your happiness with you?"

Adam didn't seem to follow her. He just stared at her, his head slightly tilted, indicating he was listening and waiting for more.

"Those soldiers were your life for four years, Adam" she said quietly. "The bond you share with them is special, I understand that. I understand that you went through . . . a lot together and that a part of you must miss them. I may not know much about these things. About the army and its protocols and such . . ." Glancing down at her lap, she continued, "But that does not mean I wouldn't like to. After all, it's part of you." She gave him a tender look. "And what is important to you, is important to me. I suspect your father and brothers might feel the same way."

Her words had a remarkable impact. She saw how the storminess of his hazel depths was settling. The deep line etched between his brows smoothed out. Finally, he released a long, tired sigh.

"I'm sorry, Madeline . . ."

He looked utterly forlorn just then and a loving smile came to her lips.

"It's all right."

She scooted along the bed to be beside him again, closing the distance between them.

"But, perhaps in the future, instead of just assuming how I might react to something, you might try . . . well, speaking to me about the matter."

She failed to keep the exasperation completely out of her tone, but it was tempered with obvious affection. Adam sat sideways to regard her more fully, something akin to silent wonder shining in his eyes.

"You have a way of making things seem very . . . straightforward," he mumbled. "Simple."

"And you, sir"—she put her forefinger to his scruffy chin—"have a way of making things that really are quite simple, seem awfully complicated."

Just as she had hoped, his expression lightened, imperceptibly. A subtle trace of amusement touched his lips, though he was clearly fighting it.

"I don't make things complicated," he muttered, looking down. "That's just the way they get, all by themselves . . ."

"Oh really?"

"Mmh."

"I beg to differ. I know of a few other people who would too."

She trailed her fingertip up to the corner of his mouth and rubbed softly. He moved his face away a bit, as if to evade her touch, but her finger followed and finally, she coaxed his half-smile out. The sight made her heart flutter and spin with joy. Oh, she loved that smile. His hand came up and took a firm hold of her wrist to stop her antics, but Madeline didn't mind. She'd accomplished what she set out to do. After such a morning, after all this heavy conversation, she'd needed to make him smile, if only briefly. Adam shut his eyes, looking beyond weary now, but also less troubled. More at peace than she had seen him in days now that some of all that pent-up tension had been released.

His shoulders lifted high with a tremendous breath as he spoke. "I don't know how you do that . . ."

He raised his head to look at her. There was a strange expression on his face now, one that took her off guard. He slid his gaze over her features in a caressing fashion, with such intensity it almost felt like a physical touch. Madeline's own smile faltered under his perusal. Sudden heat crept up her neck and color seeped into her cheeks. And then, when she was least prepared for it, his gaze captured hers. A breathless moment followed. She had never looked into another person's eyes the way Adam did with her now. It was like he was seeing things about her that no one else could. Things she didn't even know about herself.

"You're amazing," he murmured.

To her complete astonishment, Madeline felt the sharp sting of tears at the back of her eyes. It wasn't the words themselves but rather the way he said them that affected her so. Her chin dipped.

"No, look at me."

Adam's tone was a perfect balance of commanding and soft. She blinked hard once, then lifted her head. And he said it again.

"You're amazing . . ."

Madeline wanted to say the same thing back to him, but the words wouldn't come out. Her throat constricted as a staggering swelling of love filled her, making it impossible for her to speak. He knew. She could tell he did. Stroking over her knuckles with his thumb, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. At that, the smallest sound escaped past her lips. It was so faint, scarcely even a sigh, but Adam heard it. He looked directly at her. Something flickered in his eyes. Something that gradually turned dark and smoldering. Her heart skipped a beat, then resumed with a slightly faster pace. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep any more inappropriate sounds from getting out, but it was too late. The heat in her face was already spreading throughout her body. Adam straightened, towering over her. His gaze drifted down to her lips and lingered there. With the flick of his tongue, he licked his own. He raised his eyes to hers again—his pupils coal-black and dilated against the dark gold of his irises. Madeline felt spellbound, unable to draw her eyes away from him. She could do absolutely nothing but watch as he turned her hand over and lifted it. Slowly, painstakingly, he pressed his mouth to the sensitive inside of her wrist and grazed a feather-light caress part way up her forearm, pulling her sleeve up as he went. Instantly, her pulse jumped and jittered. She had never been touched there, never in such a manner before. The intimacy of the act was a complete shock to her system.

"We should get ready for breakfast," she suddenly announced. There, her voice had returned. But it was too unsteady, far too breathy.

Adam's stare didn't waver in the slightest. "In a minute."

A shudder ran through her at the roughened sound of his voice. Hot and tingly, her skin prickled everywhere with new awareness. Awareness of him. Of his body. Taller and broader than her own. Images flashed through her mind from that night in her room when he had kissed and touched her in ways she'd never even known existed. Was he about to do that again? For the past week they'd maintained an appropriate distance, most of the time. But now it was just them, in his bedroom. On his bed. Alone. Unsupervised. Madeline's pulse thundered in her ears as he moved into her space. Oh, this was terribly improper, her mind screamed. Improper. Utterly thrilling. A pulsing ache—still unfamiliar, unexplored—stirred and began to build inside her as he leaned forwards. She couldn't deny that she wanted him closer, much closer. She wanted to feel what he'd just done to her wrist, on her lips. It had been too long since he'd kissed her. And yet, although she wanted it, the nearer he came to her—the more anxious she felt.

"Adam," she managed in a choked whisper.

He halted. "Yes, Madeline?"

But that was all she had. She couldn't say anything else. Some sort of realization eased the intensity in his expression. He started leaning towards her again, his eyes hooded.

"You feel it too . . . don't you honey?"

What was it? How was he creating such havoc inside her?

"I'm . . . I—"

She braced her hand against his front, a feeble effort to stop him. Entirely the wrong course of action as it happened, because her palm encountered the strong muscles of his chest and the contact sent a bolt of sensation zinging through her body. Instead of pushing him away, she ended up curling her fingers into the top of his shirt. She was so dizzy, she needed something to cling to. But then . . . was she tugging him closer? Oh, Lord what was her hand doing? And why was he allowing it? Closer, he came, close enough that his intoxicating, male scent washed over her and made her head spin. Her eyes slammed shut.

"It's all right sweetheart . . ."

So deep, so husky. His breath was a caress on her face. Mere inches from her lips. She sensed him shift, knew he was coming and at that crucial moment, she turned her cheek to him. She inhaled sharply when his mouth touched her skin. Another sound, louder this time and even less controlled, emerged from her throat. He kissed her. His lips skimmed along her cheek, creating a blazing path all the way down to her chin. Somehow, she vaguely realized, he'd managed to slip his arm around her back without her noticing, and his hand now rested on her hip, making her flesh tingle beneath the layers of cloth. Deep in her belly, that slow pulsing intensified to a strange coiling . . . what was it? Excitement? Oh, she didn't know. She just didn't know. He nipped at the corner of her mouth, lightly. In a bolder move, his tongue swept out to graze her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her. He nuzzled the side of her face, nipped at her again. She trembled under his ministrations as her need for more continued to grow. More of him. More of everything he was doing to her. His mouth, gentle yet demanding, finally covered hers fully and his tongue probed, coaxing her to open to him. Helplessly, she succumbed to his cajoling and parted her lips. Fire erupted within her when his tongue slipped inside and tangled with hers. A fire that he had ignited and now nurtured by touching and tasting her, by letting her taste him. His hand roamed upward from her hip, tantalizingly, stopping by her rib-cage. More flames flickered to life, searing through her and melting to a pool of heat in her lower body. She felt like she was burning up, inside and out. Unable to hold back, she moaned into his mouth and he responded by pulling her closer to him. He deepened the kiss, her fingers dug deeper into his shirt and then . . . everything froze at the sound of voices out in the hall.

xXXx