While Fritz went upstairs to get Marissa, Butch waited in the library and thought about what a good guy the doggen was. When Butch had asked for a favor, the old man had been thrilled to take care of the request. Even though it had been an odd thing to ask.

When the smell of an ocean breeze drifted into the room, Butch's body threw out an instantaneous and very noticeable response. As he turned around, he made sure his suit jacket was in place.

Oh, Christ, she was beautiful in that teal gown. "Hey, baby."

"Hello, Butch." Marissa's voice was quiet, her hand unsure as she smoothed her hair. "You look... well."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Thanks to V's healing palm.

There was a long silence. Then he said, "Is it okay if I greet you properly?"

When she nodded, he went over and took her hand. As he bent down and kissed her, her palm was cold as ice. Was she nervous? Or ill?

He frowned. "Marissa, you want to sit down for a minute before we go in to dinner?"

"Please."

He led her over to a silk-covered couch and noticed that she was unsteady as she gathered the skirting of her gown and sat down with him.

He tilted her head around. "Talk to me." When she didn't speak right away, he pushed. "Marissa... you've got something on your mind, right?"

There was an awkward pause. "I don't want you fighting with the Brotherhood."

So that's what it was. "Marissa, last night was unexpected. I don't fight. Truly."

"But V said if you were willing, they were going to use you."

Whoa. News to him. Far as he knew, that thing the night before had been about testing his loyalty, not bringing him into the field as a regular gig. "Listen, the brothers have spent the last nine months keeping me out of fights. I'm not getting involved with the lessers. That's not my deal."

Her tension eased. "I just can't bear the thought of you being hurt like before."

"You don't worry about that. The Brotherhood does their thing, it's got little to do with me." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You got anything else you want to talk about, baby?"

"I do have a question."

"Ask me anything."

"I don't know where you live."

"Here. I live here." At her confusion, he nodded toward the library's open doors. "Across the courtyard in the gatehouse. I live with V."

"Oh¡ªso where were you last night?"

"Right over there. But I stayed put."

She frowned. Then blurted, "Do you have other females?"

As if anyone could measure up to her? "No! Why do you ask?"

"We haven't layed together and you are a male with obvious... needs. Even now, your body has changed, hardening, growing big."

Crap. He'd tried to hide the erection, he really had. "Marissa¡ª"

"Surely you need to be eased regularly. Your body is phearsom."

That didn't sound good. "What?"

"Potent and powerful. Worthy of entering a female."

Butch closed his eyes, thinking Mr. Worthy was really rising to the occasion now. "Marissa, there's no one but you. No one. How could there be?"

"Males of my kind may take more than one mate. I don't know if humans¡ª"

"I don't. Not with you. I can't imagine myself with another woman. I mean, could you see yourself with someone else?"

In the hesitation that followed, a blast of cold shot up his spine, racing from his ass right into the base of his skull. And while he freaked, she fiddled with her extravagant skirt. Shit, she was flushing, too.

"I don't want to be with anyone else," she said.

"What aren't you telling me, Marissa?"

"There is someone I've been... around."

Butch's brain started to misfire, like his neuropathways had just blown apart and there were no more roads left in his gray matter. "'Around,' as in how?"

"It's not romantic, Butch. I swear. He's a friend, but he is a male, and that's why I'm letting you know." She put her hand to his face. "You're the one I want."

Staring into her solemn eyes, he couldn't doubt the truth in what she said. But shit, he felt like he'd been two-by-foured. Which was ridiculous and petty and... oh, God... he totally couldn't handle her being with someone else¡ª

Pull it together, O'Neal. Just yank your ass back to reality, buddy. Right now.

"Good," he said. "I want to be the one for you. The only one."

Shoving aside all his jealous-guy horseshit, he kissed her hand... and was alarmed by the tremors in it.

He smoothed her cold fingers out between his palms. "What's going on with this shaking thing? Are you upset or are you sick? Do you need a doctor?"

She waved off his concern with none of her usual grace. "I can take care of it. Don't worry."

The hell he wouldn't. Christ, she was totally weak here, her eyes dilated, her movements uncoordinated. Ill, definitely ill.

"Why don't I take you back upstairs, baby? It'll kill me not to see you, but you don't look as if you're up to dinner. And I can bring you something to eat."

Her shoulders sagged. "I was so hoping... Yes, I think that would be best."

She stood up and swayed. As he caught her arm, he cursed that brother of hers. If she needed medical help, who would they take her to?

"Come on, baby. Lean on me."

Taking it slow, he led her up to the second floor, then down past Rhage and Mary's room, past Phury's, and even farther, until they got to the corner suite she'd been given.

She put her hand on the brass knob. "I'm sorry, Butch. I wanted to spend time with you tonight. I thought I had more strength."

"Can I please call a doctor?"

Her eyes were dazed but curiously unconcerned as she looked up into his face. "It's nothing I can't handle on my own. And I'm going to be all right soon."

"Man... right now I want to caretake like you read about."

She smiled. "Not necessary, remember?"

"Does it count if I just do it to ease myself?"

"Yes."

As they stared at each other, he had a screaming thought flash through his pea brain: He loved this woman. He loved her to death.

And he wanted her to know it.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and decided it was a crying shame he didn't have the gift of words. He wanted to say something smart and tender, to give the L-bomb a good intro. Except he just came up dry.

So he blurted out, with his typical lack of finesse, "I love you."

Marissa's eyes popped.

Oh, shit. Too much, too soon¡ª

She threw her arms around his neck and held on hard, burying her head in his chest. As he wrapped his arms around her, and geared up to go full sap all over the place, voices drifted down the hall. Opening her door, he ushered her into the room, figuring they needed a little privacy.

As he took her to the bed and helped her lie down, he lined up all kinds of sissy words in his head, ready to romance it up. But before he could say anything, she grabbed his hand and squeezed so hard his bones bent.

"I love you, too, Butch."

The words made him forget how to breathe.

Totally knocked out, he sank down to his knees next to the bed and had to smile. "Now, why you want to go and do that, baby? I'd figured you as a smart female."

She laughed softly. "You know why."

"You pity me?"

"Because you are a male of worth."

He cleared his throat. "I'm really not."

"How can you say that?"

Well, let's see. He'd been canned from Homicide for busting the nose of a suspect. He'd fucked mostly whores and lowlifes. Shot and killed other men. Then, yeah, there was that former cokehead shit and the current and persistent Scotch sucking. Oh, and did he mention he'd been sort of suicidal since his sister's murder all those years ago?

Yup, he was worth something. But only a trip to a landfill.

Butch opened his mouth, about to spill the beans, but then stopped himself.

Shut your face, O'Neal. The woman tells you she loves you and she's more than you deserve. Don't ruin it with the ugly past routine. Start fresh, here and now, with her.

He rubbed his thumb over her flawless cheek. "I want to kiss you. You feel like letting me?"

As she hesitated, he couldn't say he blamed her. Last time they'd been together had been a mess with his body kicking out that nasty stuff and her brother walking in. Plus she was clearly tired now.

He pulled back. "I'm sorry-¡ª"

"It's not that I don't want to be with you. I do."

"You don't have to explain. And I'm happy to just be around you, even if I can't¡ª" Be inside of you. "Even if we don't... you know, make love."

"I'm holding back because I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

Butch smiled fiercely, thinking if she ripped his back to shreds hanging on tight, that was perfectly fine with him. "Doesn't matter if I get hurt."

"It matters to me."

He started to get up. "That's sweet of you. Now, listen, I'll just bring you up some¡ª"

"Wait." Her eyes glowed in the dimness. "Oh... God, Butch... Kiss me."

He stilled. Then sank back down to his knees. "I'll take it easy. I promise."

Leaning into her, he put his mouth on hers and brushed her lips. Good Lord, she was soft. Warm. Shit... he wanted in. But he wasn't going to push.

Except then she grabbed on to his shoulders and said, "More."

Praying for control, he stroked her mouth once again, then tried to ease back. She followed, keeping them linked... and before he could stop himself, he ran his tongue across her lower lip. With an erotic sigh, she opened herself and he had to slide inside, couldn't possibly turn down the opportunity to penetrate her.

As she tried to get even closer to him, he moved his torso up on the bed, pressing his chest into her. Which was not such a hot idea. The way her breasts absorbed his weight set off a five-alarm fire in his body, reminding him just how desperate a man could be when he had his woman horizontal.

"Baby, I should stop." Because in another minute he was going to have her under him with that dress yanked up around her hips.

"No." She slipped her hands under his jacket and slid it off of him. "Not yet."

"Marissa, I'm getting raw here. Fast. And you don't feel well¡ª"

"Kiss me." She dug her nails into his shoulders, the sting cutting through his fine shirt in a series of delicious little flares.

He growled and took her mouth a hell of lot less gently.

Again, bad idea. The harder he kissed her, the harder she kissed back until their tongues were dueling and every muscle in him was twitching to mount her.

"I have to touch you," he groaned, shifting his whole body up on the bed and swinging his leg over hers. He palmed her hip and squeezed, then moved his hand up onto her rib cage just below the swell of her breast.

Shit. He was so on the ledge right now.

"Do it," she said into his mouth. "Touch me."

As her back arched, he took what she offered, capturing her breast, stroking it through the silk bodice of the gown. With a gasp, she put her hand over his, holding him tighter to her.

"Butch..."

"Oh, shit, let me see you, baby. Can I see you?" Before she could respond, he captured her mouth, but the way she met his tongue gave him his answer. He sat her up and started in on the buttons down the back of her gown. His hands were clumsy, but by some miracle the satin parted.

Except there were so many other layers to get through. Goddamn it, her skin... he had to get to her skin.

Impatient, aroused, fixated, he stripped the front of the gown off her, then pushed the straps of her slip down so that the pale silk pooled at her waist. The white corset that was revealed was an erotic surprise and he ran his hands all over it, feeling the structure of its bones and the warmth of her body underneath. But then he couldn't stand it any longer and all but tore the thing from her.

As her breasts were freed, her head fell back, the long, elegant lines of her neck and shoulders stretching out for him. Eyes on her face, Butch bent down to her and took one of her nipples with his mouth, suckling. Sweet heaven, he was going to come, she was so good. He was panting like a dog, already deranged from the sex, and they were nowhere near naked.

But she was right there with him, straining, hot, needy, her legs scissoring under her skirts. Man, this whole situation was spiraling out of control, a combustion engine turning over faster and faster with every second. And he was powerless to stop.

"Can I take this off you?" Shit, his voice was totally gone. "This gown... the whole thing?"

"Yes..." The word was a groan, a frantic groan.

Unfortunately, the dress was a project and damn it, he didn't have the patience to keep working all those buttons in the back of it. He ended up bunching the floor-length skirt at her hips and drawing a pair of whisper-thin white panties down her long, smooth legs. Then he ran his hands up the in-sides of her thighs, parting them.

As she tensed up, he stopped. "If you want me to back off, I will. In a heartbeat. But I just want to touch you again. And maybe... look at you." When she frowned, he started to pull down the dress. "It's okay¡ª"

"I'm not saying no. It's just... oh, God... what if I'm unattractive there?"

Jesus, he could not comprehend why she'd ever worry about that. "Not possible. I already know you how perfect you are. I've felt you, remember?"

She took a deep breath.

"Marissa, I loved the feel of you. I really did. And I have a beautiful picture of you in my mind. I just want to know the reality."

After a moment, she nodded. "All right... go ahead."

Keeping their gazes locked, he swept his hand between her thighs and then... oh, yeah, that soft, secret place of hers. So slick and hot he swayed and dropped his mouth to her ear.

"You're so beautiful here." Her hips surged as he stroked her, his fingers light and slippery from her honey. "Mmm, yeah... I want to be inside of you. I want to put my"¡ªthe word cock was definitely too coarse, but that's what he was thinking¡ª"myself in you, baby. Right here. I want to be surrounded by all this, held in you tight. So you believe me when I say you're beautiful? Marissa? Tell me what I want to hear."

"Yes..." As he rubbed a little deeper, she shivered. "God... yes."

"You want me to come inside of you someday?"

"Yes..."

"You want me to fill you up?"

"Yes..."

"Good, because that's what I want." He nipped at her ear-lobe. "I want to lose it deep in you and have you fist me as you come, too. Mmm... rub yourself against my hand, let me feel you move for me. Oh, shit... that's nice. That's... work your core for me... oh, yeah .. ."

Shit, he had to stop talking. Because if she took direction any better he was going to explode.

Oh, screw it. "Marissa, spread your legs farther apart for me. Spread them wide. And don't stop what you're doing."

As she complied, he slowly, discreetly, shifted back and looked down her body. On the other side of yards of twisted, teal blue satin, her creamy thighs were split open, his hand disappearing between them, her hips rolling in a rhythm that made his cock pop in his pants.

Latching on to the closest breast, he gently smoothed one of her legs even wider. Then he moved all that skirting to the side, lifted his head and removed his hand. Down the flat plane of her stomach, past the dimple of her belly button, over the perfectly pale skin of her pelvic cradle, he saw the graceful little slit of her sex.

His whole body trembled. "So perfect," he whispered. "So... exquisite."

Enthralled, he moved down the bed and filled himself with the sight of her. Pink, glistening, delicate. And he was catching a contact high from her scent, his brain shorting out in a flickering series of sparks. "Oh... Jesus..."

"What's wrong?" Her knees snapped together.

"Not a thing." He pressed his lips to the top of her thigh and stroked her legs, trying to part them gently. "Never seen anything so beautiful."

Hell, beautiful didn't even cut it and he licked his mouth, his tongue desperate for so much more of that action. In an absent voice, he said, "God, baby, I want to go down on you so badly right now."

"Go down?"

He flushed at her confusion. "I... ah, I want to kiss you."

She smiled and sat up, taking his face between her hands. But when she tried to draw him to her, he shook his head.

"Not on your mouth this time." As she frowned, he eased his hand back between her thighs. "Here."

Her eyes flared so wide he wanted to curse. Way to make her feel relaxed, O'Neal.

"Why..." She cleared her throat. "Why would you want to do that?"

Good Lord, hadn't she ever heard of... well, of course not. Aristocrats probably had very polite, very missionary sex, and if they even knew about the oral stuff, they certainly would never tell their daughters about it. No wonder she was shocked.

"Why, Butch?"

"Ah... because if I do it right, you'll really enjoy it. And... yeah, so will I."

He glanced down her body. Oh, God, would he enjoy it. Going down on a woman had never been something he'd had to do before. With her? He needed it. He craved it. When he thought about making love to her with his mouth, every square inch of him got hard.

"I just want to taste you so damned much."

Her thighs relaxed a little. "Go... slowly?"

Holy shit, she was going to let him? He started to tremble. "I will, baby. And I'm going to make you feel good. I promise."

He shifted farther down the mattress, staying to the side of her so she didn't feel crowded. As he got closer to her core, his body whacked out on him even more and the small of his back got tight, just like it did right before he had an orgasm.

Man, he was so going to have to go slow. For the both of them.

"I love your scent, Marissa." He kissed her belly button, then her hip, going downward inch by creamy inch. Lower... lower... until he finally pressed his closed mouth to the top of her cleft.

Which was great for him. The problem was she went totally rigid. And jumped as he laid his hand on her outer thigh.

He moved back up a little and rubbed his lips back and forth on her stomach. "I'm so lucky."

"W-why?"

"How would you feel if someone trusted you like this? Trusted you with such a private thing?" He blew into her belly button, and she laughed a little as if the warm air tickled. "You honor me, you know that? You really do."

He soothed her out with words and leisurely kisses that lingered a little longer and went a little lower each time. When she was ready, he swept his hand down the inside of her leg, clasped the back of her knee and gently separated her just a couple of inches for himself. He kissed her slit softly, again and again. Until the tension eased out of her.

Then he lowered his chin, opened his mouth, and licked her. She gasped and sat up.

"Butch... ?" As if she were checking to make sure he knew what he'd done.

"Didn't I tell you?" He bent down and lightly traced up her pink flesh with his tongue. "This is all about French kissing, baby."

As he repeated the slow sweeps, her head fell back, and the tips of her breasts rose as her spine curled. Perfect. Just where he wanted her to be. Not worried about modesty or anything like that, just enjoying the feel of someone loving her like she deserved.

With a smile, he kept going, gradually dragging deeper and deeper until he got a real honest-to-God taste of her.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he swallowed. She was like nothing he'd ever pulled down his throat. The ocean and ripe melon and honey all together, a cocktail that made him want to weep from the perfection of it. More... he needed more. But goddamn, he had to put a choke hold on himself before he could keep going. He wanted to feast on her, and she wasn't ready for that kind of gluttony.

As he took a little breather, she tilted her head up. "Is it over?"

"Not by a long shot." Man, he loved that glassy, sexed-up look in her eyes. "Why don't you lie back and let me do my thing. We're just getting started here."

As she relaxed a little, he looked down at her secrets, seeing the high gloss on the tender flesh, thinking there was going to be a whole more of that shine when he was through. He kissed her again, then lollipopped her, flattening his tongue out and trolling up nice and lazylike. Then he swept his mouth from side to side, nuzzling in farther, hearing her moan. With gentle pressure, he opened her thighs more and latched on to her, drawing on her core in a rhythmic sucking.

When she started to thrash, a buzzing lit off in his head, the shrill warning a Danger, Will Robinson from the civilized part of him that things were about to go meteoric. But he couldn't quit, especially as she grabbed onto the sheets and arched up like she was going to come at any second.

"Feel good?" He tickled the top of her cleft, flicking over the most sensitive part. "You like this? You like me tonguing you? Or maybe you like this..." He sucked her into his mouth and she cried out. "Oh, yeah... God, my lips are covered with you... feel them, feel me..."

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, moving her fingers back and forth, then licking them clean. She watched him with wide eyes, panting, nipples tight. He was pushing her hard and he knew it, but she was right there with him.

He bit her palm. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me."

"I..." Her body undulated on the bed.

"Tell me you want me." He nailed her harder with his teeth. Shit, he wasn't sure why he needed to hear it from her so badly, but he did. "Say it."

"I want you," she gasped.

From out of nowhere, a dangerous, greedy lust slapped hold of him and his control shattered. With a dark sound that came from his gut, he clamped his hands on the insides of her thighs, split her wide and literally dove between her legs. As he fell upon her flesh, penetrating her with his tongue, finding a rhythm with his jaw, he was dimly aware of some kind of noise in the room, a growling.

Him? Couldn't be. That was the sound of... an animal.

Marissa had been shocked by the act at first. The carnality of it. The sinful closeness, the scary vulnerability. But soon none of that mattered. Butch's warm tongue was so erotic she could hardly bear the slick, slippery sensation of it¡ªand couldn't stand the idea that he'd ever stop what he was doing, either. Then he started sucking on her, sucking and swallowing and saying things that made her sex swell until the pleasure stung like pain.

But all that was nothing compared to when he let loose. With a surge of male need, his heavy hands held her down, his mouth, his tongue, his face going all over her... God, that sound coming out of him, that throaty, pumping purr...

She orgasmed wildly, the most shattering, beautiful thing she'd ever felt, her body arching into the liquid flashes of pleasure¡ª

Except at the crest, the seething energy shifted, transformed, detonated.

Bloodlust roared along the sexual current between them, then pulled her down into a spiral of starvation. Hunger ripped through her civilized nature, shredding everything but the need to go for his neck, and she bared her fangs, ready to flip him over onto his back and strike at his jugular and drink hard¡ª

She was going to kill him.

She cried out and struggled against his hold. "Oh, God... no!"

"What?"

Shoving at Butch's shoulders, she hauled her body away from him, shooting off the side of the bed and falling to the floor. As he reached for her in confusion, she scrambled across the rug to the far corner, her dress dragging behind, the top hanging from her waist. When there was no farther to go, she curled into a ball and held herself in place. As her body shook uncontrollably, the pain in her belly hit in waves, redoubling each time it returned.

Butch came after her, panicked. "Marissa ... ?"

"No!"

He hauled up short. His face was stricken, all the color run out of his skin. "I'm so sorry¡ªdear God¡ª"

"You've got to go." As tears came up her throat, her voice went guttural.

"Sweet Jesus, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to scare you..."

She tried to control her breathing so she could reassure him, but lost the fight: She was panting, crying. Her fangs throbbed. Her throat was dry. And all she could think of was launching herself onto his chest. Pushing him down on the floor. Closing her teeth on his neck.

God, the drinking. He would taste good. So good, she couldn't imagine ever getting enough of him.

He tried to come close to her again. "I didn't mean for things to go so far¡ª"

She leaped up, opened her mouth, and hissed at him. "Get out! For God's sake, leave! Or I'm going to hurt you!"

She raced for the bathroom and locked herself in. As the sound of the door slamming shut faded, she skidded to a halt on the marble and caught the horrible sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her dress undone, her fangs showing white and long in her gaping mouth.

Out of control. Undignified. Defective.

She grabbed the first thing she saw, a heavy glass candle-holder, and hauled it against the mirror. As her reflection shattered, she watched through bitter tears as the pieces of herself fell apart.