Time and Again

unerringly to his. She would have sworn at him, but his mouth closed hard over hers.
    It was nothing like the first time. Then he had seduced, persuaded, tempted. Now he possessed, not as if he had the right, but simply taking it. Her muffled protest went unheeded, her struggles ignored. Panic skidded up her spine, then slid down again, overwhelmed by pure desire.
    She didn't want to be forced. She didn't want to be left without choice. That was her mind talking. It was right; it was reasonable. But her body leaped forward, leaving intellect far behind. She reveled in the strength, in the tension, even in the temper. She met power with power.
    She came alive in his arms, making him forget who and why and where. When he could taste her, hot and potent on his lips, no other world, no other time, existed. For him it was as new, as exciting, as frightening as it was for her. Irresistible. The thought didn't come to him. No thought could. But she was as irresistible as the gravity that held their feet on the ground, as compelling as the need that sent their pulses racing.
    He dragged her head back and plunged into the velvet moistness of her waiting mouth.
    The world was spinning. With a moan, she ran her hands up his back, until she was clinging desperately to his shoulders. She wanted it to go on spinning, whirling madly, until she was dizzy and breathless and limp. She could hear the murmur of the water, the whisper of the breeze through the pines. There was a strong shaft of sunlight on her back. She knew that in reality her feet were still on solid ground. But the world was spinning. And she was in love.
    The sound that came from deep in her throat was one of surrender. To him. To herself.
    He murmured her name. A searing ache arrowed through him as desire veered painfully toward a new, uncharted emotion. The hand that had been roaming through her hair clenched reflexively. He felt the petals of a flower crush. The scent, sweet and dying, rose on the air.
    He jerked away, appalled. The flower was in his hand, fragile and mangled. His gaze was drawn to her lips, still warm and swollen from his. His muscles trembled. A wave of self-disgust rose up inside him.
    Never, never had he forced himself on a woman. The idea itself was abhorrent to him, the most shameful of sins. The reality was unforgivable-most unforgivable because she mattered as no one else ever had.
    "Did I hurt you?" he managed. Libby shook her head quickly, too quickly. Hurt? she thought. That was nothing. Devastated. With one kiss he had devastated her, showed her that her will could be crumbled and her heart lost.
    He wouldn't apologize. Cal turned away until he was certain he was under control enough to speak rationally. But he would not apologize for wanting, or for taking. He would have nothing else of her when he left.
    "I can't promise that won't happen again, but I'll do my best to see that it doesn't. You should go back inside now."
    And that was all? Libby wondered. After he had stripped her emotions to the bone he could calmly tell her to go back inside? She opened her mouth to protest, and she nearly took a step toward him before she stopped herself.
    He was right, of course. What had happened should never happen again. They were strangers, whatever her heart told her to the contrary. Without a word, she turned and left him alone by the creek.
    Later, when the sun and shadows had shifted, he opened his hand to let the wounded flower fall into the water. He watched it drift away.

CHAPTER 5
    She couldn't concentrate. Libby stared at her computer screen, trying to work up some interest in the words she'd already written. The Kolbari Islanders and their traditional moon dance no longer fascinated her. She'd been certain work was the answer-an immersion in it. No one had ever distracted her from her studies before. In college she'd completed a thesis while her roommates threw an open-door pizza party. That single-minded concentration had followed her into her professional life. She'd written papers in tents by lamplight, read notes on the back of a jogging mule and prepared lectures in the jungle. Once a project was begun, nothing broke the flow.
    As she read a single paragraph through for the third time, all she could think of was Cal.
    It was a pity she hadn't had a greater interest in chemistry, she thought, pulling off her glasses to rub at her eyes. If she had, perhaps she would understand more clearly her reaction to him. Surely there was a