"You weren’t wearing a bra," he chastised her in a husky thwarted voice. "I was hoping…"

He didn’t need to finish for Carol to know what he was talking about. When they were married, she’d often worn a garter belt with her nylons instead of panty hose so their lovemaking wouldn’t be impeded.

"I want you," she whispered, her hands framing his face. "But if you think it would be best to leave… go now. The choice is yours."

His gaze locked with hers, Steve marched wordlessly across the living room and down the long hallway to the bedroom that had once been theirs.

"Not here," she told him. "I sleep there now," she explained, pointing to the room across the hall.

Steve switched directions and marched into the smaller bedroom, not stopping until he reached the queen-size bed. For one crazy second, Carol thought he meant to drop her on top of the mattress and storm right out of the house. Instead he continued to hold her, the look in his eyes wild and uncertain.

Carol’s eyes met his. She was nearly choking on the sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. Tentatively she raised one hand and pressed it to the side of his face, her eyes wide, her heart pounding so hard she was sure the sound of it would soon bring down the walls.

To her surprise, Steve tenderly placed her on the bed, braced one knee against the edge of the mattress and leaned over her.

"We aren’t married---Not a damn thing has been settled between us," he announced, as though this should be shocking news.

Carol said nothing, but she casually slipped her hand around the side of his neck, urging his mouth down to hers. She met with no resistance.

"Make love to me," she murmured.

Steve groaned, twisted around and dropped to sit on the side of the bed, granting her a full view of his solid back. The thread of disappointment that wrapped itself around Carol’s heart was followed by a slow, lazy smile that spread over her mouth as she recognized his frantic movements. Steve was undressing.

Feeling deliciously warm and content, Carol woke two hours later to the sound of Steve rummaging in the kitchen. No doubt he was looking for something to eat. Smiling, she jerked her arms high above her head and stretched. She yawned and arched her back, slightly elevating her hips with the action. She felt marvelous. Stupendous. Happy.

Her heart bursting with newfound joy, she reached for Steve’s shirt and purposely buttoned it just enough to be provocative while looking as if she’d made some effort to cover herself.

Semiclothed, she moved toward the noise emanating from her kitchen. Barefoot, dressed only in his slacks, Steve was bent over, investigating the contents of her refrigerator.

Carol paused in the doorway. "Making love always did make you hungry," she said from behind him.

"There’s hardly a damn thing in here except sweet potatoes. Good grief, woman, what are you doing with all these leftover yams?"

Carol felt sudden heat rise in her cheeks as hurried excuses crowded her mind. "They were on sale this week because of Christmas."

"They must have been at rock-bottom price. I counted six containers full of them. It looks like you’ve been eating them at every meal for an entire week."

"There’s some pie if that’ll interest you," she said, a little too quickly. "And plenty of turkey for a sandwich, if you want."

He straightened, closed the refrigerator and turned to face her. But whatever he’d intended to say apparently left him when he caught sight of her seductive pose. She was leaning against the door jamb, hands behind her back and one foot braced against the wall, smiling at him, certain he could read her thoughts.

"There’s pumpkin, and the whipped topping is fresh."

"Pumpkin?" he repeated.

"The pie."

He blinked, and nodded. "That sounds good."

"Would you like me to make you a sandwich while I’m at it?"

"Sure." But he didn’t sound sure of anything at the moment.

Moving with ease around her kitchen, Carol brought out the necessary ingredients and quickly put together a snack for both of them. When she’d finished, she carried their plates to the small table across from the stove.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, setting their plates down.

"I’ll get it," Steve said, apparently eager to help. "What would you like?"

"Milk," she responded automatically. She’d never been overly fond of the beverage but had recently made a habit of drinking a glass or two each day in preparation for her pregnancy.

"I thought you didn’t like milk."

"I… I’ve acquired new tastes in the past year."

Steve grinned. "There are certain things about you that haven’t changed, and then there’s something more, something completely unexpected. Good God, woman, you’ve turned into a little she-devil, haven’t you?"

Carol lowered her gaze and felt the heated blush work its way up her neck and spill into her cheeks. It wasn’t any wonder Steve was teasing her. She’d been as hot as a stick of dynamite. By the time he’d undressed, she’d behaved like a tigress, clawing at him, driven by mindless passion.

Chuckling, Steve delivered two glasses of milk to the table. "You surprised me," he said. "You used to be a tad more timid."

Doing her best to ignore him, Carol brought her feet up to the edge of the chair and pulled the shirt down over her legs. With feigned dignity, she reached for half of her sandwich. "An officer and a gentleman wouldn’t remind me of my wicked ways."

Still grinning, Steve lounged against the back of the chair. "You used to be far more subtle."

"Steve," she cried, "stop talking about it. Can’t you see you’re embarrassing me?"

"I remember one time when we were on our way to an admiral’s dinner party and you casually announced you’d been in such a rush that you’d forgotten to put on any underwear."

Carol closed her eyes and looked away, remembering the time as clearly as if it had been last week instead of several years ago. She remembered, too, how good the lovemaking had been later that same evening.

"There wasn’t time for us to go back to the house, so all night while you strolled around, sipping champagne, chatting and looking sedately prim, only I knew differently. Every time you looked at me, I about went crazy."

"I wanted you to know how much I longed to make love. If you’ll recall, you’d just returned from a three-month tour."

"Carol, if you’ll recall, we’d spent the entire day in bed."

She took a sip of her milk, then slowly raised her gaze to meet his. "It wasn’t enough."

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head before grudgingly admitting, "It wasn’t enough for me, either."

As soon as it had been socially acceptable to do so, Steve had made their excuses to the admiral that night and they’d hurriedly left the party. The entire way home, he’d been furious with Carol, telling her he was certain someone must have known what little trick she was playing. Just as heatedly, Carol had told Steve she didn’t care who knew. If some huffy admiral wanted to throw a dinner party he shouldn’t do it so soon after his men return from deployment.

They’d ended up making love twice that evening.

"Steve," Carol whispered with ragged emotion.

"Yes?"

"Once wasn’t enough tonight, either." She dared not look at him, dared not let him see the way her pulse was clamoring.

Abruptly he stopped eating, and when he swallowed, it looked as if he’d downed the sandwich whole. A full minute passed before he spoke.

"Not for me, either."

Their lovemaking was different this time. Unique. Unrepeatable. Earlier, it’d been like spontaneous combustion. This time was slow, easy, relaxed. Steve led her into the bedroom, unfastened the buttons of the shirt that she was wearing and let it drop unheeded to the floor.

Carol stood before him tall and proud, her taut nipples seeming to beg for his lips. Steve looked at her naked body as if seeing her for the first time. Tenderly he raised his hand to her face and brushed back a wisp of blond hair, his touch light, gentle. Then he lowered his hands and cupped the undersides of her breasts, as though weighing them in a delicate measure. The velvet stroke of his thumbs worked across her nipples until they pebbled to a throbbing hardness. From there he slid the tips of his fingers down her rib cage, grazing her heated flesh wherever he touched her.

All the while, his dark, mesmerizing gaze never left hers, as though he half expected her to protest or to stop him.

Carol felt as if her hands were being manipulated like a puppet’s as she reached for his belt buckle. All she knew was that she wanted him to make love to her. Her fingers fumbled at first, unfamiliar with the workings of his belt, then managed to release the clasp.

Soon Steve was nude.

She studied him, awed by his strength and beauty. She wanted to tell him all that she was feeling, all the good things she sensed in him, but the words withered on her tongue as he reached out and touched her once more.

His hand continued downward from her rib cage, momentarily pausing over her flat, smooth stomach, then moving lower until it encountered her pelvis.

Slowly, methodically, he braced the heel of his hand against the apex of her womanhood and started a circling, gyrating motion while his fingers explored between her parted thighs.

Hardly able to breathe, Carol opened herself more to him, and once she had, he delicately parted her and slipped one finger inside. Her eyes widened at the stab of pleasure that instantly sliced through her and she bit into her lower lip to keep from panting.

She must have made some kind of sound because Steve paused and asked, "Did I hurt you?"

Carol was incapable of any verbal response. Frantically she shook her head, and his finger continued its deft movements, quickly bringing her to an exploding release. Wave upon wave of seething spasms, each one stronger, each one more intense, overtook every part of her. Whimpering noises escaped from deep within her throat as she climaxed, and the sound propelled Steve into action.

He wrapped his arms around her and carried her to the bed, laying her on top of the rumpled sheets. Not allowing her time to alter her position or rearrange the sheets, Steve moved over her, parted her thighs and quickly impaled her.

His breathing was ragged, barely under control.

Carol’s wasn’t any more even.

He didn’t move, torturing her with an intense longing she had never experienced. Her body was still tingling in the aftermath of one fulfillment and reaching, striving toward another. Her whole person seemed to be filled with anxious expectancy…waiting for something she couldn’t define.

Taking her hands, Steve lifted them above her head and held them prisoner there. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his arms on either side of her head. The action thrust him deeper inside Carol. She moaned and thrashed her head against the mattress, then lifted her hips, jerking them a couple of times, seeking more.

"Not yet, love," he whispered and placed a hand under her head, lifting her mouth to his. Their kiss was wild and passionate, as though their mouths couldn’t give or take enough to satisfy their throbbing need.