"Justine," he whispered, "Justine…"

Everything he wanted from her was in his voice. He wanted her, in every way, and at this moment she would have given him all that she was, if only -

If only she was a different person, a woman who wasn't afraid to give her heart, afraid of her own self, her own feelings.

Dulcie had said to her, "When are you going to throw caution to the wind?"

But she had learned that caution over a lifetime, and it was too late for her now.

He murmured her name again against her lips, deepening the kiss in a way that was part plea, part demand. She responded fiercely, longing for the moment when emotion and sensation would take over.

But it didn't come. Try as she might she could not force her heart to rule her head. The knowledge made her want to cry out in despair, but she couldn't change anything.

"What is it?" he asked, sensing her inner struggle and loosening his grip. "Have I misunderstood? You do not feel as I do?"

"I don't know how I feel. How can I know so soon? How can you?"

"I do know."

"You can't," she said desperately, trying to make it true by the force of her assertion.

"Don't tell me how I feel," he said quietly.

"But we've only known each other a few days, and we've hardly talked at all."

"Perhaps it's as well. Talking is when people make mistakes about each other. I have made no mistake. I know what I feel about you. But if you wish, I'll wait a little while before saying it."

"And then I'll be gone," she said, suddenly wistful.

"You must not go before I tell you that I love you."

She surveyed him wryly. "That's very clever," she said. "Very subtle. Very Venetian."

"What do you know of Venetians?"

"I'm learning fast. You're great talkers."

"And you think it means nothing?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean at the time, and then tomorrow it means something else." She attempted a teasing tone. "You can tell me you love me tonight, if you want to."